


Monkees a Go Go Christmas Eve-Eve

by gwenweybourne



Series: Infinite Tuesdays [5]
Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Bisexuality, Christmas, Dolenzsmith, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Handjobs for the holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Jork - Freeform, M/M, Monkee celestials, Period-Typical Homophobia, Will probably get a little smuttier later, eventual Jork, fluff and some angst, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: The Monkees are preparing for a Christmas Eve-Eve party for all of their friends (and likely a bunch of other people because Micky somehow ended up in charge of invitations). Mike and Micky are thriving together but Mike still has a hard time letting himself be happy. Davy can't stop looking at Peter and can't figure out why. And the Monkee celestials are busier than ever in the days leading up to Christmas as dark forces reform and threaten their boys.
Relationships: Davy Jones/Peter Tork, Micky Dolenz/Mike Nesmith
Series: Infinite Tuesdays [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1504865
Comments: 50
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to return to this series for my first-ever holiday fic. If you've followed the series so far, I hope you can enjoy it and some of the characters who will come back to visit. I'll add more to the character list as I add chapters. 
> 
> For those who haven't read the series and don't want to do that just now and just want a fun Christmas fic to read (I don't blame you ... it's a LOT), here is the Reader's Digest version of the Monkee celestials. It started with me writing a throwaway gag with Micky having a tiny devil and angel on his shoulders as he tried to make a decision. The angel and devil looked like tiny versions of Micky and they fight each other all the time. It was so cute/fun I kept writing them into the fic and then Mike and Davy got their own angel/devil/demon characters, as well, which I collectively refer to as the celestials now. They help the guys make good and bad decisions, provide comic relief, and sometimes help shape destiny a little bit. It's not meant to endorse any particular religion or spirituality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story now complete. Rated Explicit for sexual content in Chapter 5. Chapters 1-4 are rated T.

_December 15_

Mike pulled up outside the Pad with a large evergreen tree strapped to the roof of the Monkeemobile. They were throwing a “Monkees A Go Go Christmas Eve-Eve” party in just over a week and were finally getting around to decorating the Pad for the occasion. At least that’s what Micky said he was going to start doing while Peter and Davy went shopping and Mike went to choose a tree.

He heard Micky’s voice yelling their names at random before he got to the door. Alarmed, Mike threw the door open and ran into the living room.

_“… Micky!”_

Micky was dangling from the second floor of the Pad … upside down. His skinny legs threaded through the metal railings, his curly hair seeming to stand on end as he clutched some sprigs of mistletoe in his hands.

“Oh … hi, Mike!” Micky chuckled with forced casualness. “Just … hangin’ around, y’know …” His face was getting redder as the blood rushed to his head.

“Micky, what on earth?!”

“Well, okay, so I wanted to hang all this mistletoe, see? In case people wanted an easy excuse to smooch at our party, and I thought it would be groovy to just hang over from the second floor and put it up that way, but …”

“You didn’t think this through, did you?” Mike asked.

“I didn’t think this through.”

“Because you don’t bend that way.”

“I don’t bend that way.”

“Are you stuck, Micky?”

“No, that’s not a problem. What is a problem is I think I don’t seem to be able to pull myself up.”

“Not enough sit-ups.”

“I hate sit-ups.”

“Clearly.” Mike sighed and held out his arms. “C’mon. I’ll catch you.”

“You promise?”

“You ain’t got a lot of choices at your disposal before your dang head explodes, Mick.”

“That’s fair. Okay — I’m gonna stop holding on with my legs, okay?”

Mike nodded impatiently. “I got you, babe. C’mon …”

Micky squeaked as his legs slipped through the rails and Mike easily caught him in his arms. Micky tensed for a moment before realizing he wasn’t on the floor. He then threw his arms around Mike’s neck and beamed, batting his eyelashes dramatically. “My hero!” he cooed in a girlish voice, holding up the mistletoe before pressing a kiss to Mike’s lips.

Mike chuckled in spite of himself and kissed Micky again, a little more firmly. “You’re a total kook, y’know that?” He carefully set Micky down on his long legs.

“Uh-huh!” Micky agreed, swaying a little bit and stumbling over to sit in one of the kitchen chairs while his blood redistributed.

“You coulda just stood on that very chair you’re parked on right now.”

“Boring,” Micky scoffed.

“You nearly ruined our streak, y’know.” Mike pointed to large sign posted near the door that read:

**_NUMBER OF DAYS_ **

**_WITH NO INJURIES:_ **

**_5_ **

The _5_ was written on a separate square of cardboard and stuck to the bottom. “I really think Maxine’s right — it’s very motivational. This has gotta be a new record. Don’t you go and spoil it with some crazy stunt before our party.”

Micky shot him a petulant look. “I think she only made cards up to the number nine, so in five days I’m really gonna go for broke!”

Mike scowled and Micky grinned mischievously.

“Good thing I love you so much, you fool boy. How’s your head feelin’? Think you’re up to helpin’ me haul the tree inside?”

“The tree!” Micky cheered, leaping out of his seat, mistletoe forgotten, apparently sufficiently recovered now. “Let’s see let’s see let’s see!”

Mike shook his head with a grin. Christmas seemed to bring out something of the kid in everyone, but no one as much as Micky. Well … maybe Peter. He still put out cookies and milk for Santa Claus and they drank the milk and took bites out of the cookies to play along. It was unclear who was humoring whom at this point, but both sides seemed to think it best not to discuss it. Peter wasn’t terribly interested in material things outside of musical instruments, and the lack of actual presents from Santa Claus didn’t seem to faze him.

The Monkees rarely had much money for anything like fancy Christmas presents. Whatever they could spare they preferred to spend on something good to eat for Christmas Eve dinner and a tree for the Pad. And then they were all invited to Micky’s parents’ house for a Christmas Day feast that left them full until New Year’s. For presents they liked to make things for each other from found items on the beach or sing songs for one another. Maybe someday they’d be rich and famous, but that day hadn’t arrived yet, and they’d figured out how to get by on next to nothing. Mike still reckoned if he had to choose, he’d much rather have the Monkees than all the money in the world and being all alone.

But they’d had a run of good gigs lately, and after Mike subtracted money for their rent, bills, and food for both December and January (January was always a lean time as everyone shed the festive mood and made lofty resolutions that ultimately went out the window by February), they had a nice little nest egg left over for the holidays. Peter had suggested that they share some of their good fortune with their friends by throwing a party and the other boys agreed it was a good idea.

* * *

As Mike and Micky went out to get the tree, angel-Mike popped into view, folding his arms over his chest as devil-Micky rolled, laughing, on the stairs.

“You wanna try not to break your boy just before the holidays?” the Texan angel drawled.

Devil-Micky wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Aw, c’mon, he makes it too easy. Besides, gotta keep your fella on his toes. Micky Dolenz is a full-time job and I won’t let him forget it.”

Angel-Mike shook his head ruefully, but he couldn’t really stay annoyed with the little devil. After all, they’d become far more than acquaintances some time ago. What they were exactly was undefinable since celestials didn’t mark time with relationships the way mortals did. It simply was what it was. If their assigned mortals happened to part ways, then they would as well. But they would cross paths again and again, as they had before, for time immemorial.

However, when angel-Micky arrived a few minutes later, his colleague shot him a glare. “Where you been, huh? Black-britches over here nearly cracked your boy’s skull open.”

Angel-Micky rolled his eyes. “You mean it’s a day ending with the letter _Y_? Believe me, I can only be so many places at once when it comes to Micky and his devil. Besides … I have you to pitch in now, don’t I?”

“I knew it!” angel-Mike exclaimed. “You been slackin’ off since our boys took up together.”

“You had a decade-long dirt vacation!” angel-Micky countered. “I’ve been with Micky” — he angled his chin toward the devil — “and your sinister paramour over there since he was born. Do you have any idea how _tired_ I am?”

Angel-Mike bit back a chuckle. “All right, all right. You make a point. Besides, it’s the holiday and I’m feelin’ more charitable than even the job requires.”

The three watched as their boys wrestled the overly large Christmas tree through the door, only losing a few branches and a small mountain of needles in the process.

Micky held the stand ready while Mike maneuvered the tree into it. They turned it back and forth, arguing good-naturedly about which side looked best and finally compromising. Though Micky quickly nudged it back more in “his” direction when Mike’s back was turned.

Angel-Micky fluttered to the top of the tree and posed, hands held in a prayer position. “What do you think?” he asked piously. “Perhaps I missed my calling for some seasonal work?”

Devil-Micky snorted, unimpressed. “Have you thought about how people _attach_ angels to the tops of Christmas trees?”

Angel-Micky looked at him for a few moments, perplexed, then his jaw dropped and he reached back to grab his bottom. “Certainly not!”

“Don’t knock it till ya tried it, angel-face,” the devil said, waggling his eyebrows while it was angel-Mike’s turn to double over with laughter this time.

* * *

Micky had just finished hanging the copious amounts of mistletoe — without cracking his skull open — around the Pad when Davy and Peter arrived home. They carried bags of decorations and Peter had garlands of tinsel wrapped around his neck and shoulders like sparkly feather boas.

“Ain’t he a sight?” Davy said, giggling. “I figured if we had trouble finding the right tree, Peter could step in. Just need to stick a few baubles on his shirt and a star on his head!”

“I can think of no greater honor,” Peter said solemnly. “Just don’t forget to water me.”

“That’s all right, Pete,” said Mike, pointing to the calendar on the wall. “We got a schedule for that for all through the year. I think Mick waters you next.”

“That’s right,” said Micky. “Every second Sunday during Daylight Savings time.”

“Anyway, it’s beside the point because I found us a really groovy tree and I think we should decorate it right now. Help us getting in the mood for the holidays.”

“For the party!” Micky grinned devilishly. “It’s gonna be a happening!”

Mike paused for a moment, then looked at his boyfriend. “… I don’t remember how you convinced me to put you in charge of invitations.”

Micky adopted an innocent look, but his eyes sparkled with pure mischief. “Oh, I have my ways. So many ways of convincing you of most anything. Like when I use my mouth to —”

“That’s quite enough of that!” Mike interrupted, flushing red. “What I mean to ask is … how many people you done invited to this bash?”

Micky shrugged.

Mike furrowed his brow. “And what does that mean?”

Micky whistled innocently and looked away. “Means … I sorta lost count around … fifty.”

“Fifty!” Mike exclaimed.

In shock, Davy yanked so hard on the tinsel wrapped around Peter that he spun around like a top and fell over.

“Oh, Peter, I’m sorry, mate!” Davy said, reaching down to take the blond boy’s hands and pull him up to a sitting position.

“It’s all right, Davy,” Peter said cheerfully. “It was kind of fun. Can we do it again?”

“Oh, Peter,” Davy said affectionately, still holding Peter’s hands without realizing it.

“Fifty people,” Mike murmured, raising a hand to his face. “Oh boy, we’re in for it.”

“It’s okay!” Micky said. “I told everyone to bring pretzels!”

“Fifty people and fifty bags of pretzels. Wonderful.”

“I said I _lost count_ after fifty.”

Mike shook his head. “Don’t tell me no more. Let’s just … get this tree up.”

* * *

The Monkee celestials gathered to watch the boys decorate their Christmas tree. Even devil-Micky remained for the occasion, though they all knew it was because he wanted to be around angel-Mike. Angel-Micky wondered how that was all working out. In his eternity of devoted service he’d never seen an angel who rode the line so close to devilishness — and as a result had completely captured the attention of the devil who used to be the main thorn in angel-Micky’s side. Not to say that he didn’t still cause plenty of trouble with their Micky — who also happened to be the closest mortal incarnation of a devilish imp that the angel had ever been assigned to, but Micky Dolenz had a heart of gold, which balanced things out.

Then there was a trio of _pop_ s and angel-Micky blinked to see Davy’s celestials arrive. There was angel-Davy, who sported a white turtleneck with fitted stovepipe pants; devil-Davy, who was smirking around a cigarette with a black newsboy cap slung low on his head between his horns. Angel-Micky smiled at both of them in spite of himself. He’d been so busy dealing with Micky and Mike’s relationship that he hadn’t had much interaction with Davy’s “guys” lately … except for the third.

Cupid-Davy, formerly Cupid-Micky, fluttered over to him with a dreamy smile. “Ah, it’s the most wonderful time of the year!” he sighed.

Angel-Micky regarded the cherub with interest. “And how’s everything been going? Haven’t seen much of you lately. You look … far less exhausted than I expected.”

Cupid-Davy exhaled a puff of air that mussed the bangs of his shiny page-boy hairstyle. “Oh, that bloke has kept me plenty busy, but …” he licked a finger and held it up in the air “… there’s a sea change coming!”

In the months since his change of assignment, the cherub still bore the wondrous, breathy tone of voice, but he had fully absorbed Davy’s characteristics — though his sense of style (if it could be called that) remained the same. Though he’d changed into a pair of red-and-green hot pants for the season.

“It’s true, innit,” remarked angel-Davy, nodding. “Unlike anything we’ve ever seen before.”

“FOR THE TIMES, THEY ARE A-CHAAAAANGIN’!” bellowed devil-Davy in a purposefully off-key tone.

Devil-Micky turned at the sound and grinned. “Hey, man! Good to see ya!”

The two devils flew to each other and exchanged a complicated, showy series of hand-slaps and shakes that only they knew and then lit cigarettes for each other.

Angel-Micky furrowed his brow, then took a good look at Davy Jones, who beamed at Peter Tork as he handed off some ornaments to the blond Monkee, instructing him on which higher parts of the tree to place them and Peter smiled happily, doing as Davy said.

“No …” angel-Micky whispered. “Really?”

“What’s this now, huh? Bring me up to speed,” said angel-Mike, flying smoothly over to join them. The two devils forced their way into the huddle as Cupid-Davy filled them all in on recent developments.

“No foolin’!” angel-Mike exclaimed. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“I’m workin’ on it, baby,” devil-Micky said with a smirk.

The Texan angel rolled his eyes affectionately and then flew over to perch on his Monkee’s shoulder, sensing Mike was clueing in as well. He was watching Peter and Davy interact.

“Now what’s goin’ on there?” Mike murmured softly. Ever since he’d coupled up with Micky, it was like Mike’s eyes had been opened to a secret kind of world that operated quietly behind the scenes. Boys looking at boys and girls looking at girls. Sometimes doing much more than just that. It seemed to happen often enough that he knew he wasn’t imagining it. He’d even noticed some fellas giving him the ol’ once-over, which was something he’d never allowed himself to notice before. Probably because he didn’t think he was worthy of it. Until Micky crashed into Mike’s previously dormant love life with all of the subtlety and grace of a bulldozer and opened his mind to … everything. Well, maybe not everything, but lots and lots of things.

“You ain’t imagining things. Tiny is surely smitten.” angel-Mike said, looking over at Peter and Davy.

“… for real. Peter and _Davy_? I never woulda thunk it.”

“’Tis the season for miracles.”

“Huh,” Mike said, sitting back, crossing one leg over his knee and observing. Until Micky all but vaulted off the sofa and into his lap.

“Whoof!” Mike gasped, then stared down at Micky trying to curl into his lap like an overgrown puppy.

“Whaddya doin’?” Micky asked, staring up at him. “Why are you staring at Peter and Davy like a weirdo?”

“I am a weirdo. You know that.”

“Well, you’re my weirdo.” Micky made a sound and wrapped his arms around Mike’s thin body. Mike smiled and petted Micky’s hair, stroking a thumb over his cheekbone and along his jaw. Micky smiled and looked up at Mike again. “Seriously, though — you were all lost in your head. Is everything okay?”

Micky still worried. Mike knew that he was mostly responsible for that. It had taken him a long while to get comfortable and to accept Micky’s love, and sometimes he still felt insecure and unsure. Sometimes it felt like his demon was coming back for him. But when he looked down into Micky’s smiling face and warm eyes, it was hard to imagine why he’d ever feel anything but happy.

“Everything’s fine, Mick. Just … takin’ it all in. Really seeing some stuff.”

“I’m not even close to finishing decorating the Pad yet, babe.”

Mike looked around at the clusters of mistletoe and paper snowflakes and tinsel that Micky had energetically hung while the rest of them worked on the tree. “Are you serious … of course you are. You really don’t do anything by half measures, do you?”

“Just chores and boring stuff,” Micky giggled. He took hold of Mike’s shoulders and pulled himself up for a quick kiss. Mike couldn’t help but glance at Davy after. Davy had been surprisingly accepting of him and Micky as a couple, but had definitely lost his temper with them a few times when Mike and Micky got a little too handsy with each other in the Pad while Davy was in the room.

“It ain’t because you’re both blokes, neither!” he’d complained. “I mean it. It’s just annoying.”

But now Davy just glanced at them and then turned his gaze to Peter, his brow furrowing in a tense kind of confusion.

_Well, I’ll be damned._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone loves Christmas cards, right? They can't _possibly_ cause drama or problems, right? ... or can they?

_December 16_

The doorbell rang and Micky sprang up and hurried to the door. It was about the time when the mail came, and it was the season for Christmas cards. Micky loved Christmas cards, but he also wanted to give their postman, Bobby, an invitation to the party.

Micky saw Bobby’s face when he peered through the window in the front door and quickly grabbed the invitation from the side table as he opened the door.

“Hey, Micky!” Bobby said, grinning.

“Hiya, Bobby! What’s the haul like today? This is the only time of year I really look forward to seeing you — it’s nothing personal!”

“No sweat,” Bobby said, laughing, handing Micky a stack of envelopes. “I get it. I deliver the stuff, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own stack of bills and notices coming in at home, too. Nice to have one time of year when the mail is more fun. I certainly have a better time delivering it!”

Micky accepted the mail in one hand and held out the invitation with the other. “For once I got something for you, man! We’re throwing a party on Christmas Eve-Eve. It’s gonna be a real blowout. I know it’s a busy time of year, but it would be real groovy if you could come, even just to drop in and say hi off the clock for once. We think you’re a real swell guy.”

Bobby blushed faintly, accepting the envelope. “Far out, Micky. I appreciate it. I’d love to come. Can I bring my girl, Darlene?”

“You most certainly can!” Micky exclaimed. “The more the merrier. And it’s gonna be plenty merry here!”

“Thanks again,” Bobby said. “Can I bring anything to the party?”

“Pretzels! Can never have too many pretzels!”

“You got it, man. Well, I better get back to my route. See you!”

“S’long, Bobby!” Micky closed the door. He wandered over to the sofa and sorted through the mail. As usual, most of the cards were for Davy; a few for Peter and himself and then one addressed to Mike … and Micky. The return address was in San Francisco … from a J. Williams.

 _Josiah_.

Micky felt a stab of anxiety mixed with jealousy. Only three months ago, Mike’s old friend Josiah had turned up in town and turned their lives upside down. In the end, Micky had taken pity on the former soldier who’d been shunned by his family for being gay and had directed him to stay with friends in San Francisco. The return address was the same city, but not the same address as the one Micky had sent Josiah to in order to stay with Micky’s friends. Micky noted that his name was on the envelope, too (it was the first time he’d received a piece of mail as part of a couple and that gave him a warm feeling that confused the negative feelings), but for some reason he didn’t feel right about opening it before Mike. He put it aside and plucked out the cards that had come just for him.

Girls liked to send Micky Christmas cards. He wasn’t entirely sure why because he rarely had the patience to write many letters and he certainly hadn’t been keeping in touch with many girls since he got together with Mike properly. But he also had some fans and they sent him cards and sometimes photos in the cards. Sometimes they were in bikinis. Sometimes even less. He opened one card and a photo fell out onto the floor without him noticing. He read the cards with varying degrees of interest, then got distracted by his growling stomach and left the cards in an untidy pile on the coffee table while he went to get a snack.

Mike wandered downstairs a few minutes later and looked over at the sounds of Micky attacking a sandwich. He chuckled a little. He wasn’t usually the kind to be bothered by loud chewing sounds, but Micky sometimes drove him close to the line. He attacked everything with the same level of enthusiasm … food, reading, his drums, his experiments, his machines, sex with Mike. And so Mike could hardly fault his boyfriend for an excess of passion. There was no such thing, really.

“Mail came in,” Micky mumbled at Mike with his mouth full. “Something for you … us.”

“Us?” Mike asked curiously. “You mean addressed to us together?”

Micky nodded, looking down at his plate this time.

Mike sat down on the leather couch and regarded the messy pile of half-opened mail, sighing. Then he felt something slippery under his shoe and he lifted his foot to see a photograph. Of a girl … a half-naked girl with Christmas bows covering her nipples. Mike blinked. “Boy howdy …” he murmured, flipping the photo over out of curiosity, figuring it was one of Davy’s many admirers.

_Dear Micky,_

_Haven’t heard from you in a little while, sweetie. I enclosed a photo to jog your memory! I miss you loads — come see me in the new year!_

_xoxoxox Lisa_

Mike frowned. He looked at the other torn-open cards on the table and sorted through them. They were all for Micky and they were all from girls. Most of them had photos in them, though nothing quite as risqué as Lisa’s effort. Mike swallowed hard, his stomach lurching. And then, to his horror, there was a black cloud of smoke and the demon was back. Mike had almost managed to forget about him.

Demon-Mike chuckled low and deep. “Missssss me? You knew this couldn’t lassst forever. How long do you really think you can keep him interested? When he has all of them wanting him? You’re such a naive fool.”

Mike didn’t answer … couldn’t answer. He just sat frozen, his hand beginning to sweat and cause the ink to run on Lisa’s inscription. The demon cackled and popped away.

Mike wasn’t sure how long he sat there but then he heard Micky calling to him. “Mike … Mike?”

Mike stood up, throwing down the photo and quickly leaving the Pad, exiting through the door to the deck and heading for the beach, forgetting that it was pretty chilly outside by Malibu standards.

Meanwhile, Micky furrowed his brow. What the heck? He had just wanted to know what Josiah’s card said. He wiped his hands and mouth and went over to the coffee table to retrieve the card. And then he looked down and saw a photograph of a half-naked girl. She was familiar … what was her name … Tina … Linda … Louise.… He picked up the photo and turned it over. Lisa. Right.

And then he realized what had happened.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered.

Somewhere else, beyond the mortal realm, angel-Mike was catching up on paperwork when he heard an alarm go off and an acrid smell fill his nose.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered.

* * *

Micky grabbed a jacket and, showing some rare foresight, one for Mike, and hurried down to the beach after him. He saw Mike stalking away, but not too far ahead, arms wrapped stubbornly around himself as the cool December wind whipped down the deserted shore. Clearly he hadn’t even been expecting Micky to follow him.

“Mike … MIKE!” he yelled, stumbling in the sand as he ran.

Mike turned around and seemed to spend a moment deliberating whether or not to run, but good sense prevailed and he reluctantly started walking back in Micky’s direction.

“Mike!” Micky said, frustrated when his boyfriend drew near. “What’s going on? You’re gonna catch cold out here.” He thrust Mike’s fringed buckskin jacket at him. Mike grudgingly accepted the offering and shrugged into it.

“Just … needed a moment …” he muttered.

“Mike,” Micky said softly. “I didn’t even think to tell you about the pictures. I’m sorry. I didn’t even see that one of … Lisa. It must have fallen on the floor when I opened the card. I wasn’t trying to rub it in your face. They don’t … none of it means anything. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I ain’t mad …” Mike mumbled, looking down at the sand.

“Bullshit.”

“I ain’t … I just … let myself think that maybe you didn’t dig girls anymore. That I was … enough for you. I try not to think about girls chasin’ after you.”

“They’re chasing after you, too, Mike,” said Micky. “You just don’t notice. It’s a … side effect of our job. For most guys it’s the reason why they get into rock ’n’ roll in the first place. It sure was a big reason for me. But I haven’t let myself get ‘caught’ since I started up with you. You believe me, don’t you? I wouldn’t step out on you like that. Not after we started going steady.”

“I know, Micky … I know you wouldn’t do me wrong like that, I just …”

Micky cocked his head and looked up solemnly at Mike, the wind ruffling his curly hair. “It’s cuz you think I’m not ‘really’ gay, isn’t it?”

Mike flinched slightly. He still had trouble with that word. Any word that denoted his exclusive interest in men. He didn’t want to be different. He didn’t want there to be a “name” for someone like him. He just wanted … to be like everyone else. Except to be able to be with Micky.

Mike shrugged. “I guess? I … feel like you always got one foot out the door, y’know?”

Micky shook his head. “No, I don’t know, Mike. I really don’t.” He reached out to tug on Mike’s hand, indicating they should sit down in the sand together. Mike looked around furtively, but the beach was empty. It was too chilly and the sky was overcast. Maybe some brave surfers would try their luck later in the day when the sun came out. Mike shrugged and sat, crossing his legs as Micky did the same.

“So …” Micky said slowly. “Explain to me so I understand. You think … you worry … that I’m just passing time with you until a better girl comes along?”

“Well, no …” Mike mumbled.

“Or that I’m looking at girls because I can’t help myself. Because I always have … before you.”

Mike looked silently at Micky and gave a non-committal shrug, staring down at the sand.

“Sure, I look at girls,” Micky said. “But let me ask you this … do you look at boys?”

Mike blinked, then blushed. “Ain’t the same thing …” he muttered.

Micky laughed. “Sure, it is! You’re gay, you’re not dead, Mike. You been looking at boys as long as I’ve been looking at girls. The only difference — and I know it’s a big one and it’s a drag — is that you thought you weren’t supposed to be looking at boys, meanwhile I was encouraged to look at girls as much as I liked.”

“Yeah …” Mike said, barely above a whisper.

Micky looked around as well, then folded Mike’s cold hand into his and squeezed it, slipping their clasped hands into his jacket pocket to keep them warm. Mike smiled a little and nudged a fraction closer. “I didn’t look at boys because I was also raised to believe that it was just something you didn’t do. But I liked girls, so I just transferred it all over there. But, Mike … I know now that I liked boys, too. I look back on some of the fellas I hung out with and how I felt about them. It was different than just pals with a couple of them. I know that now. And I look at boys now, too.”

Mike looked at him sharply and Micky squeezed his hand again. “I just look, Mike. Are you telling me you never look? Even when they’re looking at you?”

“You notice that?” Mike murmured.

Micky chuckled softly. “Of course I do. I see them checkin’ you out. Sure, maybe it makes me a little jealous, but mostly it makes me feel proud. Because they should be looking at you. You’re a stone fox.” He smiled and looked up at Mike. “But you’re _my_ stone fox.”

Mike blushed faintly. “Ain’t no one ever described me that way before.”

“Well, it’s true. And I truly remember the first time I saw someone look at you like that.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Mike curiously. “And who was that?” He was maybe fishing for compliments now, but he’d always felt insecure about his looks and it still amazed him to think that Micky thought he was handsome. Foxy, even.

“It was Josiah. That morning when he came to the Pad to apologize to you. … to us.”

Mike furrowed his brow. “Really?”

Micky laughed, but a little bitterly this time. “Yeah, really. The whole reason we had that problem with him was because he had it bad for you, Mike. And you came downstairs with no shirt on yet and … well, you looked gorgeous because we’d just made love and your face gets all flushed and your hair was mussed up, and …” Micky trailed off, blushing as well, realizing he was getting distracted. “I mean, he was looking at your body like he wanted to eat you up and I just wanted to start punching him again.”

“Micky,” Mike said, chuckling, flattered and embarrassed. “Like you said, we’d just made love and also confessed that we loved each other. You couldn’t have possibly been worried about Josiah then.”

Micky shrugged. “Logically, no. I knew that. But jealousy isn’t logical. Or rational. So, I get it.” He looked up at Mike plaintively. “That when you see me getting a bunch of flirty pictures and notes from girls … even if I barely know them … that you might feel jealous. I would, too. But I wasn’t thinking about that. I just …”

“Wanted a sandwich …” Mike finished.

Micky grinned. “Well, yeah.”

“I know I overreacted a bit. I just … you know we talked about how sometimes it feels like we got these angels and demons inside us … tellin’ us stuff?”

Micky nodded. “Yeah. And I know what you meant. I have them, too.”

“I had this real nasty one for a long time. Tellin’ me all sorts of junk. Makin’ me feel rotten about myself alla time. And then you and I took up together and he went away for a while. Until I almost forgot about him. But I saw that girl … with the nipples … and he came right back. Said I was a fool for thinkin’ I could hold on to a fella like you.”

“What’s a fella like me?” Micky asked.

Mike shrugged. “A gorgeous guy who’s cool and smart and funny and attracts girls who send him photos of their nipples.”

“Bows, technically.”

“Micky!”

“What! She wasn’t naked! And besides, I don’t wanna talk about her anymore. I brought up Josiah for a reason.”

Mike frowned. “Huh? Why?”

Micky pulled the card out from his other pocket, releasing Mike’s hand so he could take it and open it. “Because he sent us this. And I didn’t wanna open it without you.”

Mike perused the writing on the envelope. “It’s addressed to both of us, Mick. You coulda opened it before me.”

“I dunno … it felt weird.”

“You think it’s bad news?”

“I think anything about Josiah is potentially bad news.”

“I thought you made your peace with him.”

“I sent him four hundred miles up the coast to get him away from us. I don’t know if you call that peace or just avoidance.”

“Well, only one way to find out …” Mike slid his finger under the seal and tore the envelope open. He extracted a Christmas card with a single sheet of folded paper inside. He unfolded it, careful to hold fast in the strong breeze and read it silently, chuckling after a few seconds.

“What? Is it funny? Is it good news? What’s going on?” Micky said anxiously.

“Shhhh! Hold yer horses. I’m readin’.”

Micky rolled his eyes. Mike flipped the paper and read the other side. Then he smiled warmly and looked out over the ocean.

“Well?” Micky said impatiently.

Mike handed the piece of stationery over to Micky. “See for yourself.”

Micky scowled and took the letter from Mike.

_Dear Mike and Micky,_

_Christmas greetings from San Francisco! I learned the hard way that only tourists and squares call it Frisco. I sound enough like a rube already with this accent — eh, Mike?_

Micky snorted.

“He’s such an ass,” Mike chuckled, knowing exactly which part Micky was reacting to.

_I have so much to be thankful for this Christmas and I owe it all to you two. Mike, for giving me a destination, and Micky, for finding me a real home. Your wonderful friends here are now my friends — practically family even after these short months. They took me in with open arms and just let me … be, y’know? Encouraged me to stop looking for answers in the bottle and then they set up me up with a job at a health food store. Can you believe it? It’s a total trip!_

_And that’s where I met Matthew. He’s real heavy into the health food and yoga scene, so these days I’m more about wheat germ than whiskey! Matthew and I have a little pad of our own now and things are really groovy. I think you’d like him._

_I’d have none of it if it weren’t for you guys. Words can’t express my gratitude. This time last year I thought for sure I was going to die in the jungle and never see another Christmas at all. I’m glad I made it. I’m glad you two found each other. I hope you’re happy and well and making all that groovy music with Peter and Davy. I wish you peace and love and all good things for 1967._

_Love,_

_Josiah_

“Wow,” Micky said softly, folding up the letter. “That’s beautiful, man.”

“I know,” Mike said. He turned to Micky. “Micky, babe, I’m sorry I stormed off like that. Pulling a jealous trip. I trust you more than anyone. I’m so lucky to have you … I love you so much.”

Micky slipped the letter into his pocket, then took Mike’s hand again. “We could argue back and forth about who’s more lucky, but we’ll never win. I’m where I wanna be and with the person I wanna be with. I have such a groovy life.”

Mike looked around to make sure no one was still around, and then he leaned over and kissed Micky — and it was no quick peck, either. He kissed Micky the way he kissed him when they were naked in bed and Mike wanted to make love.

Micky was breathless when the kiss broke. “… wow, Mike.” He blushed furiously. “I’ve never been kissed like that with clothes on.”

“Thought maybe it was a little chilly to strip you down here,” Mike said.

“Yeah, the _temperature_ is the big barrier here …” Micky chuckled. “Aw, screwing in the sand is overrated, anyway. Only looks sexy if you’re Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr.”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “You done it?”

Micky smiled and shrugged. “I’m a California native, Mike. Fucking on the beach is a rite of passage. And lemme tell ya, the sand really _does_ get everywhere!” He shuddered visibly.

Mike laughed. “All right, Burt, let’s get outta this wind and back to the Pad. I wanna kiss you a whole lot more.” He struggled to his feet and held out his hand to Micky, who grasped it and stood as well. They wanted to hold hands, but saw some people walking toward them in the distance, so they didn’t risk it. But they leaned into each other, shoulders hunched into the wind. Mike saw Micky shiver as the air whipped through his curly hair. Mike tugged off his green wool hat and clumsily shoved it on Micky’s head, wondering if his big hair would allow it to fit.

Micky laughed. “Hey, what’s the big idea? I … oh, that does feel warmer!”

“You bet your bippy it does!” Mike quipped. “You lose somethin’ like forty percent of your body heat through the top of your head!” He paused, then added slyly, “It’s why I’m such hot stuff, y’know.”

Micky cracked up laughing, throwing his head back. “I love you,” he said, wiping a tear of mirth away. “God help me, I love you, Michael Nesmith.”

* * *

As they head toward the light and warmth of the Pad, angel-Mike rolled up his sleeves and stared down demon-Mike. “You just get on outta here,” he said sternly. “Ain’t no place for your crap right now. Boy’s in love and he _is_ loved, and it’s Christmastime. Give my regards to Mr. Zero.”

Demon-Mike looked disdainfully at the angel. “I’ll passssss on the message. But he has some pressing matterssss to attend to with your cozy little group.”

Angel-Mike scowled, his wings twitching. “Now what does _that_ mean?”

The demon laughed, a hard ugly sound, then waved his black-nailed fingers at the angel. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Merry Chrissssstmas!”

 _Oh, shit_ , the angel found himself thinking for the second time that day.

* * *

Mike and Micky came inside through the back door. Mike angled his head in the direction of their bedroom, giving his best come-hither look. Micky grinned and nodded. “Yeah, Mike. I just gotta do somethin’ real quick, okay? I’ll be up in a minute.”

Mike wiggled his eyebrows in faux seduction and made to teasingly remove his jacket as he headed upstairs. Micky laughed, feeling his heart swell with love again. Mike turned him into a real sop sometimes, but he didn’t mind. Something about the holiday season made everything feel even better, too.

He pulled Josiah’s letter out of his pocket and a blank party invitation from the table. He hunted around for a pen, searching under papers and magazines and unable to find one. Letting out a huff of frustration, Micky walked over to the other table and opened up the panel. The disembodied hand came up holding the telephone receiver.

“Naw,” Micky said, shaking his head. “You got a pen? I can’t find mine anywhere.”

The hand snapped its fingers, disappeared for a moment, then returned with a ballpoint.

“Gee, thanks!” said Micky, taking the pen. Then he grimaced. “What about stamps?”

The hand drummed its fingers in exasperation, but disappeared and returned with a book of stamps.

“Thanks, you’re a pal,” said Micky, relieved. “Hey, waitaminute!” He reached out and cradled the hand’s fingers in his own. “Nice polish job! Very festive! Lookin’ sharp!”

The hand waved its green-and-red-painted fingernails at Micky in an _oh, you!_ gesture and disappeared back into the panel, pulling the door shut behind it.

Micky returned to the coffee table and wrote out yet another party invitation with the time and date. He added a personal note at the bottom:

_I know it’s a long way to travel, but Mike and I would really like to see you two if you can make it. Give my love to Cathy, Paul, Ginny, and Dan._

_Merry Christmas,_

_Micky_

He wrote “Josiah and Matthew” on the envelope, then carefully copied down their address from the letter. He licked the stamp, stuck it on, then opened the door to put the envelope in the boot for Bobby to pick up. It was already December 16th, but there was still a chance it would arrive in time for Josiah to consider the trip.

Davy came up as Micky was going back inside.

“Oh, Micky!” Davy said. “I’m glad you’re home. I … I wondered if you had a minute to talk?”

Micky glanced up at the door to his shared room with Mike, then back at Davy. “I’m sorry, Davy. Can it wait for a bit? I, uh, gotta see a man about a dog.” He gave a lascivious expression, waggling his tongue and twirling a pretend bowtie.

Davy frowned. “Yeah, yeah, all right, Micky. Later, then.”

Micky all but giggled as he tripped up the stairs and burst into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Dog indeed,” Davy muttered, wandering over to the couch and slumping down on it. He needed to talk to someone about his increasingly confusing feelings about Peter. He wasn’t quite sure when it had started, but maybe it was when Micky and Mike were sneaking around as a secret couple and Davy and Peter were left on their own a lot more than usual. And how kind and compassionate Peter was when Mike and Micky came out to them. Davy hadn’t had such an easy time of it and Peter had been patient and kind with him, too. He was incredibly insightful and comforting sometimes. In a way that was confusing because he was so incredibly thick in others. But when Davy got all wound up and riled up and fed up, Peter was calm and happy and serene. And when Peter was upset or scared, Davy would be there to protect him. Before that whole wild scheme where Davy had gotten tricked into thinking he was a skilled boxer, he’d intervened when a man had started giving Peter a hard time on the street for littering pistachio nut shells. He’d given the guy a warning tap on the chin, but would have followed up with a punch. Maybe he was no boxer, but he was a scrapper. And Peter was about as scrappy as a marshmallow.

But it made Davy love him even more.

 _Love. Oi, now waitaminute_.

“It’s okay to love him, mate,” said angel-Davy, perching on his shoulder.

“I know,” said Davy. “I mean … technically, I know. I’m still getting used to that, but that ain’t me, man. I’m a ladies’ man, y’know? It’s … that’s my bag.”

“Borrrrring,” devil-Davy chimed in. “It’s almost 1967, babe. There’s a sexual revolution going on, if you didn’t notice!”

“Hmmm.” Davy frowned. “I’m English, man, not a revolutionary. I leave that to the Yankees.”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that and you may start to believe it. Maybe,” the devil chuckled.

Angel-Davy giggled softly.

Davy whipped his head back and forth, glaring at both of them. “Are you two in cahoots against me? Ain’t one of you chaps supposed to be urging me one way and the other in another way?”

“Oh, I suppose you have a copy of the _Official Celestial Handbook_?” angel-Davy sniffed.

Davy made a face. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“There’s only one person being ridiculous in this room. And it’s the one with no wings or horns.”

“Oh, bugger off,” Davy groused, waving his hands at his annoying companions until they disappeared. He could hear Micky and Mike getting hot and heavy upstairs and groaned, putting a pillow over his head. Some Christmas season this was turning out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Josiah is an OC I created for the series. It's hard to summarize him, but he is an old "friend" from Texas who arrives in Malibu to stir up trouble for Micky and Mike in [Lost and Found Weekend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21270335/chapters/50826385).
> 
> *The disembodied hand only makes one canon appearance in _The Monkees Get Out More Dirt_. Micky and The Hand have a combative relationship (in the ep it tries to pull him through the hole to wherever The Hand lives), but are working on it. And it's Christmas. I introduce The Hand in [A Month of Tuesdays](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187100/chapters/50433377).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days pass as the party draws closer. But there's a sinister plot afoot and Peter needs to be protected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sweet/snuggly Jork here. The more I write them, the more I like it. I know it's not everyone's ship, but *shrug*

The next few days seemed to fly by as the Monkees landed two back-to-back gigs playing Christmas parties that had needed last-minute acts. In one case, the entire band (and the entire party they were playing the night before) got food poisoning from some bad clams; and in the other, the band broke up acrimoniously the night before, after the drummer threw a cymbal at the guitarist, accusing him of stealing his girlfriend and then the guitarist threw _the bass player_ at the drummer and there was no coming back after that.

Peter Tork didn’t particularly like profiting from someone else’s misfortune, but he sure was happy that they’d landed the extra gigs. They’d even incorporated some Christmas songs into their setlist. Micky did a scorching vocal rendition of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” Mike did a country-fried version of “Jingle Bell Rock,” Davy sweetly crooned “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Peter himself made the audience go reverently quiet as he finger-picked a solo instrumental version of “O Holy Night” on his banjo. The first night he’d done it, he’d humbly acknowledged the audience’s appreciation, but then looked around at his bandmates, because it was always their approval he wanted most. Mike smiled and nodded at him. Micky beamed happily. And Davy … Davy had tears streaming down his face. The sight had shocked Peter and then Davy looked away and furtively wiped at his face with his sleeve, blinking rapidly as if there was something in his eye, but even Peter knew better.

Peter knew he was a little different from most other people. He often didn’t get jokes and often he made people laugh when he was being serious and made people roll their eyes when he tried to make a joke. But Michael said that Peter often saw things that other people overlooked because they were too busy to notice. Michael made Peter feel almost smart sometimes.

Peter couldn’t tell if this was one of those times or if it was something that was just so blatantly obvious to others that he was finally noticing it, but Davy was definitely looking at him differently these days. Not in a bad way … just a curious way. A way that sometimes made Peter feel warm and a bit tingly. But also Davy looked confused and uncomfortable when he looked at Peter that way and that made him feel less good. Peter had had something of a crush on Davy since they first met. He was just … so cute. And Peter never meant that in a condescending way. Davy really was incredibly cute with his bright, brilliant smile, shiny eyes and infectious giggle. All the girls went wild for him and Peter didn’t blame them.

Peter was very shy around girls, so he didn’t date very much, but sometimes a more forward girl would ask him out and he liked that. But so far he hadn’t really found anyone he connected with. It seemed to go the same every time: a couple of dates, usually some fooling around in a car, and sometimes sex for a while, but inevitably they ran out of things to talk about and it fizzled out. He wasn’t sure if it was him or them or he just hadn’t found the right person yet. He looked at Mike and Micky, who certainly seemed to enjoy their physical relationship (an understatement, as Davy and Peter, sleeping in the room directly beneath theirs, had been woken up many times by their bandmates getting frisky in the middle of the night), but they also just enjoyed being around each other just as much. Talking and goofing off and being around Davy and Peter.

Peter hadn’t really been aware of his sometimes-attraction to men until one night when a good-looking guy started chatting him up after Monkees set.

“I really dig your sound, man! That was far out! I’m Charlie,” he said.

“Hey, thanks! I’m Peter … I play the bass.”

“I know,” Charlie said, smiling. “I saw you. Hard to miss you, really. You, uh … really know how to move up there. The way you wiggle your hips. It’s … sexy.”

Peter had blushed, but enjoyed the compliment. Charlie was cute, with strawberry blond hair and freckles and blue eyes. He made Peter feel very strange, but also kind of excited.

They were standing closer and Charlie kept touching Peter’s arm and Charlie was just asking Peter what his plans were for the rest of the night when Ned from the Four Martians came by and took Peter by the arm. “Sorry … I gotta steal him for sec. C’mere, Peter …”

“Huh?” Peter let himself be pulled aside, even though he didn’t want to.

“Are you outta your mind?” Ned hissed at him once they were on the other side of the room.”

“Huh?” Peter repeated, confused.

“Pete, that guy was trying to pick you up! He’s … he’s a queer!”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Okay … so what?”

“Well, you’re not a queer, Peter. If you went off with him, he wouldn’t want to just sit around and play checkers, if you know what I mean. Just thought I’d get you out of a tight spot before you got in over your head.”

“Yeah, okay … thanks?” Peter said, still very confused. Ned had patted him on the shoulder and walked away. Peter looked over to where he and Charlie had been talking, but the boy was gone. Peter hadn’t seen him at a gig since.

_You’re not a queer, Peter._

Well, how did Ned know? Especially if Peter didn’t even know himself. All he knew was that he’d liked talking to Charlie and maybe going off with him and not playing checkers might have been kind of nice. Love was love as far as he was concerned, which was why he’d had little problem in accepting Mike and Micky as a couple. He could see how happy they were and how could that possibly be wrong?

Now Davy was looking at him the same way Charlie was that night, and Peter wasn’t sure what to do about it. If he should anything about it. Davy was his friend and roommate and bandmate. They literally slept several feet apart from each other most nights, unless Davy was out on a date.

Davy went on a lot of dates. And more often than not he wouldn’t return until the next morning. All those girls. Stars in his eyes every other day. How did Peter compete with that? He just didn’t …

But he couldn’t get the image out of his mind of Davy’s wide, wet brown eyes fixed on him after he played the hymn on his banjo.

* * *

_December 22_

It was now the evening before the big party and angel-Mike and devil-Micky were lounging in a fruit bowl on the kitchen table at the Pad as their respective Monkees bustled around the Pad, making even more preparations. The tiny Texan angel played sweet and low on a harmonica with one hand, while the other hand petted devil-Micky’s curls and toyed with his horns as the devil rested his head in the angel’s lap and purred happily. Suddenly, there was a trio of _pop_ sounds and three other little devils perched on the rim of the bowl, staring them down. Angel-Mike slowly lowered the harmonica from his lips, narrowing his eyes. Devil-Micky cleared his throat and sat up casually. “Hey, fellas. What’s goin’ on? What are you doin’ here?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” said one of the devils, shooting a glare at angel-Mike, who glared right back, his wings twitching angrily.

“Don’t be fooled by the white getup and wings. This guy is tough as nails.”

Angel-Mike angled his chin and swiped his thumb over the tip of his nose in a defiant gesture.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We got bigger fish to fry. You wanna come with us to take a crack at the Tork kid?”

Angel-Mike looked at devil-Micky in alarm. “What’s this now?”

“Orders from Zero,” said another devil in the trio. “Concentrated attack tonight while he sleeps. Figure if we give him nightmares he’ll become more susceptible to our influence.”

“I beg your pardon!” snapped angel-Mike. “You’ll do no such thing. He’s a sweet kid. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That’s what we’re tryin’ to _fix_ ,” snarled the third devil. “Hey, Mick, what’s up with this guy? You comin’ with us or not? We got some prep to do.”

Devil-Micky frowned. “Did Zero say I gotta go with you?”

“Nah, but figured you might want some of the action. You been a bit slack lately, pal. Could be the company you’re keeping.”

Angel-Mike growled and began to faintly glow. Devil-Micky turned to him and touched his arm. “Cool it, baby.” He turned back to his colleagues. “He’s right, y’know. Kid’s harmless. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Leave him alone. Besides … it’s almost Christmas.”

“You know it ain’t true that he’s harmless. He’s so good he’s been taking us down when we go in solo. And so many of these goody-two-shoes are at their weakest at Christmastime. Besides, Zero’s orders. But, hey, no skin off my horns if you ain’t interested. Just wanted to offer.”

“Naw, you go on,” said devil-Micky uneasily. “Four against one sounds too stacked to me.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. It’s gonna be a hard job. Too bad you gone soft.”

“Now waitaminute!” devil-Micky protested. “I just think the timing is lousy, is all! Can’t you sit on it for a few days?”

“No can do, daddy-O,” said the first devil. “Well, we’re gonna split, then. See ya when we see ya, angel-lover.”

Devil-Micky growled as they popped away. Angel-Mike stared at him in disbelief. “So you’re just gonna let ’em do it?”

“What? I’m not gonna help ’em!” Devil-Micky touched his horns. “Baby, remember what I am. You signed up for this.”

“Whatever ‘this’ is,” the angel groused, standing up and flying out of the bowl. “It’s Peter, man. I don’t know what your boss wants so bad with him, but I know it ain’t good. If you ain’t gonna help, then I’ll find someone who can.”

Devil-Micky jumped out of the bowl and lit a cigarette. “Oh yeah … and who’s that?”

“Tiny, English, and looks mighty fine in a pair of hot pants.” Angel-Mike tipped his hat and popped away.

Devil-Micky scowled. “Oh, for cripes’ sake. I knew gettin’ mixed up with one of them do-gooders was gonna bite me on the ass eventually.” He popped away to go find devil-Davy. If anyone could help him in any way he could possibly help, it would be him.

* * *

That night, as the Monkees slept, Cupid-Davy and Angel-Davy kept watch over Peter. They couldn’t stop the devils from doing their work because Peter wasn’t their assigned mortal, but they could get Davy to protect him as much as possible. Likewise, devil-Davy and devil-Micky couldn’t get involved, but they’d quietly conspired with the cherub and angel to form a plan after the latter had received an urgent visit from angel-Mike. Peter’s unusual circumstances left him without his own celestials to protect him from Mr. Zero, so it was up to them. They still didn’t understand what Zero wanted with Peter so much, but he seemed determined to capture such a pure, kind soul for his own.

“I don’t usually do this, y’know,” Cupid-Davy sighed. “I wanted to give it more time. Make sure it was going to take.”

“I know, I know,” said the angel. “But it can’t be helped. He needs the nudge to help Peter. Keep him strong. Besides, it was going to happen eventually … you’re not forcing anything that wasn’t meant to be.”

Cupid-Davy bristled. “Certainly not. It’s against the code!”

“There’s a cherub code?”

“Darn right there is. What would be point of love be if it had to be manufactured by us?”

They both frowned as Peter began to whimper in his sleep.

“Poor sod,” murmured angel-Davy. “I can barely stand to watch this.”

“But we must. Someone has to. He has no one else.”

Peter’s whimpers grew louder and then he was moaning. “No … why … please … let me in. Why … please … Davy … Micky … Mike? No … please …”

And then Peter’s body stiffened then thrashed as he cried out and tears began to streak down his face.

“Do it now. Right now. Hurry,” urged angel-Davy, wringing his hands.

Cupid-Davy nodded, took aim and sent a single, well-aimed arrow flying toward Peter. It made contact, spreading a pink glow that spread across to the sleeping Davy. Angel-Davy flew down to perch on his shoulder and began to whisper into the youngest Monkee’s ear. Over and over, urgently, until Davy stirred and began to wake.

“Peter?” Davy mumbled, surfacing from a deep sleep. “Peter … what’s wrong. Peter!” Davy nearly fell out of bed and stumbled the three steps to Peter’s bedside. He realized Peter was dreaming … nightmaring? His face was streaked with tears and contorted with fear in a way that made him look nearly unrecognizable. Davy shook him firmly. “Peter! Wake up! Wake up, mate — it’s a dream. It’s all right, Peter … wake up.”

Peter finally awoke with a sobbing gasp, his eyes wild and searching. Davy was alarmed — he’d never seen Peter this way before. “Peter,” he said desperately, “it’s okay, baby. You’re safe … you’re all right. It’s just a dream. It ain’t real …”

“Oh, Davy,” Peter finally said, then burst into tears anew. “Davy, it was awful.”

Davy hesitated for a few moments before lifting up the covers and crawling into Peter’s bed. It just seemed like the right thing to do. He wanted to comfort Peter — who was clearly very deeply disturbed by his dream. He slipped his arms around the trembling blond, who hiccupped and continued to cry, but more softly now as he clung to Davy, nestling into the crook of his neck. Davy stroked Peter’s silky hair and murmured, “There, there, Peter … it’s all right. Everything is all right.”

Peter whimpered, wiping at his eyes. “It felt so real. I was so scared, Davy.”

“D’ya wanna tell me what happened? I find sometimes that helps. Makes it … feel less real. More like a wild story.”

Even though Peter was the second-tallest Monkee, and towered over Davy like most everyone did, the position they were currently in made it feel like Peter was very small in his arms and Davy was indeed much taller. It was a strange feeling. He continued to stroke Peter’s hair and absently pressed a kiss to his forehead before realizing what he was doing. _What the …?_

Peter smiled against Davy’s neck in response to the kiss as his tears tapered off, but he held fast to Davy still. It was nice having him so near and he was warm and he smelled good and Peter didn’t want him to go back to his own bed.

“I came home to the Pad …” he whispered shakily. “But it wasn’t really the Pad. It was different. And you guys were there, but you were different. And you didn’t know who I was. Or you didn’t want to know me anymore. You just ignored me and wouldn’t let me inside. And it was getting dark outside and there these noises … like animals or monsters … and they were getting closer and louder and I kept banging on the door, and then I ran around onto the beach and up to the deck and banged on the windows, but you guys wouldn’t look at me. You didn’t talk to each other, either. You just sat there with your backs to me like statues, like you weren’t even real, and the noises were getting louder, Davy … and then I looked inside the Pad again and you were all gone, which was worse … I was alone … I was all alone … and then the monsters came for me …” Peter let another shaky sob and a fresh wave of tears washed over him at the memory.

“Shhhh-shhhh,” Davy soothed, squeezing Peter closer. “You’re not alone, Pete. You’ll never be alone, okay? Not as long as I’m around. It’s all right … I’ll fight the monsters with you.”

He didn’t know where the words were coming from, but realized they were true. He knew Peter’s biggest fear was being abandoned … left all alone, and he also knew that he’d never let that happen as long as he was able.

Peter pulled back a little and looked up at Davy, his warm brown eyes reddened and shiny with tears, lips trembling. “You … you mean it, Davy?”

“Yeah, ’course I do. I mean it, Peter.” Davy touched his cheek then, wiping some tears away. And then he felt an overwhelming urge to gently kiss Peter on the mouth, so he did.

Peter blinked and stared at Davy when the kiss ended.

Davy blushed furiously “I’m … I’m sorry, Peter … I don’t know what came over me …”

“No,” Peter said softly, wondrously. “No, Davy … don’t be sorry. Don’t ever apologize for showing love. For showing care. It was nice. Really nice. You can do it again … if you want.”

Davy stared at him a moment and then leaned in and kissed him again. Peter kissed him back this time and Davy felt an electric charge through every nerve ending.

“Crikey …” Davy whispered.

“Crikey …” Peter mimicked in his terrible attempt at copying Davy’s accent. Which cracked Davy up and it broke the tension. Davy cuddled Peter close again, stroking his hand through his hair.

“I’ve never wanted to kiss a bloke before … not until recently. Not since Micky and Mike … d’ya suppose them … bein’ … you know … gay … is it catching, Peter? Does it work like that?”

“Of course not, Davy,” Peter murmured, his lips brushing against Davy’s neck, causing him to shiver. “All you’ve caught is a case of open-mindedness. Which is, I’m happy to say, incurable. You’re just recognizing more possibilities than before.”

“And what about you, Peter? Are you … recognizing more possibilities now?”

“Oh yeah,” Peter sighed. “It’s a whole groovy thing.”

“… are you scared?”

“No. Not really. Well, maybe a little. But it’s you, Davy. I can’t be scared of you. You chase the monsters away. Are you scared?”

“Yeah. But not of you. Just … of this feeling. Do I have any stars in my eyes?”

Peter pulled back and looked deeply into Davy’s deep brown eyes. “Nope. Maybe a twinkle, but that’s always there.”

“I didn’t think so. You don’t have any either.”

“Nope. But I feel all warm inside. Squishy. But also … sharp. Does that make sense?”

“… weirdly, it does.”

“Hmmm. I think I like it.”

“Me, too. But … what do we do now?”

“I think … maybe we try to go back to sleep. I think I could sleep again … if you stay in my bed with me. Just like this. … will you?”

“Okay, Peter. I can do that.” He had no desire to go back to his own bed now. Not when Peter was so warm and soft and sharp and so smart and so achingly naive that Davy just wanted to protect him and love him and learn from him and be around everything that made Peter such simple, complex, open-book enigma.

It was a lot of big feelings to feel all at once and Davy exhaled a long breath, but then made a little sound when he felt Peter’s lips on his neck and then his collarbone. He definitely wanted more … of _that_. But then Peter made a contented sleepy noise and closed his eyes, and Davy decided that there was time for _that_. There was lots of time for _that_. No rush. He closed his eyes and dreamed of fighting monsters side by side with Peter Tork. Together they could do most anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the night of the big party. And the guests start arriving ... and arriving ... and arriving. Lots of familiar and unexpected faces. And lots and lots of pretzels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could a) go back in time and b) write for the Monkees TV show and c) if the Monkees did go to a third season, this is the Christmas episode I would write for them. It would go wildly over budget, but it would be so much fun. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed coming up with the scenarios.

_Christmas Eve-Eve (December 23)_

Finally, it was time for the party to begin. Mike stood back and took in the main floor of the Pad with a sense of pride. The place looked pretty good if he did say so himself. Maybe some would say a little tacky, but Micky subscribed to the notion that while maybe less was more, more was _MORE_ and more was always better. Every fixture had tinsel or mistletoe hanging off it and the tree was twinkling and decorated so heavily the green branches could barely be seen. Though Micky kept eating the popcorn strings faster than they could replace them. There was punch and some chips and snacks and candy canes and music playing on the jukebox.

Now … they just needed some guests. Mike still felt a stab of anxiety about that. Either Micky invited way too many people or Mike was going to find a stack of unmailed invitations under a cushion in about ten minutes.

But then the doorbell rang. Mike turned, but Micky came sailing down the spiral bannister, taking some tinsel down with him. “I’LL GET IT!!” he hollered, excited, leaping for the door. Mike smiled and stepped aside to let him do the honors.

“Maxine!” Micky cried happily. Maxine was a friend of the band and a nursing student who tended to many of the minor yet frequent injuries the Monkees suffered in their strange adventures. None of which Maxine believed were actually true, no matter how they tried to convince her.

“Hi, Micky!” Maxine exclaimed. “Thanks for inviting us — it’s great to see you!” Micky stepped aside to let her in, followed by her three friends.

“This is Gina, Margie, and Betty,” Maxine said, introducing her friends in turn. “We’re all classmates at school together. Margie and I are roommates.”

“Hi, Max, hello, ladies,” Mike said, stepping up to greet them. “May I take your coats?”

“Hi, Mike!” said Maxine. “That would be lovely, thanks so much. Oh, and we brought some pretzels, like Micky asked!” She handed the bag off to Micky before shrugging out of her coat.

“I told you we were too early,” Gina complained, stepping in to see they were the first to arrive. “I feel so square!”

“Hey, someone has to be the first to arrive,” said Davy, turning on the charm and giving Gina one of his best smiles. She blushed and smiled back at him.

“I suppose you’re right. Your place looks real nice. I don’t think we’ve met before … I mean, I’ve seen you sing with the band, but …”

“Well, it wouldn’t do to not have proper introductions,” Davy said. “I’m Davy Jones.”

“Gina Rosales,” she replied, blushing again as Davy kissed the back of her hand.

“Lovely to make your acquaintance, Gina.”

Peter stood off to the side, watching the interaction, unsure of how he felt. Considering that he and Davy had spent the previous night snuggled up together in bed. But apart from two chaste kisses, nothing else had happened. And Davy’s primary mode of interaction with women was charm and flirtation, and Gina was very pretty. Peter shook his head and decided that he wasn’t going to think about all that very much tonight. It was a party and everyone was meant to have fun and he wanted to have fun.

Maxine moved to admire the “DAYS WITH NO INJURIES” sign she’d made for them and they’d hung on the wall. “Six days! Impressive!”

“Yeah, well, we’d made it higher than that, but Peter kept stabbing himself with the needle while stringing popcorn.”

“Micky kept yanking on the string!” Peter complained.

Micky shrugged. “I really love popcorn, man.” He went to shut the door, but then Nyles stumbled inside and nearly fell into Micky.

“Heyyyy, man!” he mumbled with a grin, shoving a half-eaten bag of pretzels at Micky. “Merry … merry and all that. Groovy set-up!”

Micky looked at the bag and then handed it back to Nyles. “Here, man, I think you need this more than we do.”

“Cool cool cool,” Nyles muttered, digging into the bag as he wandered into the Pad.

Maxine looked after him. “He’s kinda cute … what’s his story?”

Micky blinked. “Nyles? Nooooo, Maxine. No, no, no. He’s … _no_.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Maxine asked, raising her eyebrows.

“What _ain’t_ wrong with him is the better question,” Mike quipped. This time he went to close the door, but then a group of about eight kids began streaming in, each handing him a bag of pretzels and shouting greetings.

Micky clapped happily and began collecting coats, which he tossed at Peter until the blond was staggering under the clothing. He stumbled off to his bedroom to toss them on the bed.

Mike peered out the door and managed to close it this time.

* * *

It all started going pretty quickly after that.

Mike looked over as the door opened again and two very beautiful, glamorous women stepped inside, and a large majority of heads turned their way. They were wearing expensive furs and dripping in jewels. Mike squinted at them, wondering if they had the wrong house, when suddenly, it clicked.

“Ellen FARNSBY!” he exclaimed. The strange actress he’d briefly met when the Monkees were working for the telephone answering service. She’d pretended to be suicidal in rehearsing for a role and had Mike jumping through hoops to track her down and stop her from doing anything rash. He was still a little peeved that she would play around with anyone like that. It was no joking matter. But then Ellen got her big break and was a pretty famous actress now.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, holding out a hand and dramatically fluttering his way. “Merry Christmas, my darling! I simply had to come and give my greetings to the little people. Have you met my illustrious colleague, my bosom friend, Joannie Janz?” Ellen gestured to the beautiful woman standing next to her. Joannie gave a superficial smile and held out her hand to be kissed. Mike looked at it and quickly grasped her fingers and pretended to kiss it as fast as possible.

“We’ve met,” he muttered.

“Surely not!” said Joannie. She looked around the Pad and wrinkled her nose. “I think I would remember someone who lived in a place … like this.”

“Speaking of which … how did you find us?” Mike asked, confused.

“Why, I was invited, of course!” said Ellen, producing an invitation from her purse. “Our mutual friend … Marty!”

“That’s Micky,” Mike corrected, but Ellen was already speaking over him.

“Marty-Micky, what’s the difference, darling? I thought this would be our good deed for Christmas. Give the little people a treat during this blessed time of year!”

“Too kind of you,” Mike muttered. “Um, can I take your coats? Get you some punch … a taxi ride outta here?”

Joannie grimaced, clutching her fur tightly around her, though it was becoming quite warm in the Pad due to the expanding crowd. “I’ll hold on to this, if you don’t mind.”

Ellen looked at Joannie, then mimicked her look of disdain. “Yes, yes, of course. They’re worth a fortune, you know. One can’t be sure what kinds of people will be here.”

“Suit yourself. Um, make yourselves at home. I’m sure some fellas will be waiting on you hand and foot in just a few moments.”

Ellen gave a performative laugh. “So droll, darling! It is so good to see you again!” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand and drew Joannie into the living room. Mike rolled his eyes and scratched his head. _Why the heck did Micky invite her? Come to think of it … there are a lot of people who ought not to be here._

“Oh, darling!” Ellen called over her shoulder. “I almost forgot. Our host gift!” She lightly tossed a bag of pretzels in Mike’s direction. Mike made to catch them, but Nyles headed him off at the pass and grinned. “I’ll take care of this, Mike …”

Mike frowned and looked around the room. Wait … was that Mrs. Weefers spiking the punch bowl? Then he heard the frantic click of a camera and saw … Rob Roy Fingerhead shooting pictures of Ellen and Joannie as they posed dramatically.

_What was happening?_

Mike grimaced, then yelled, “MICKY!!!”

Micky looked up across the room and caught Mike’s eye. He grinned and pointed, mouthing _ROB ROY FINGERHEAD_!

Mike threw up his arms in confused frustration. Then there was a frantic beeping and the sound of a vehicle screeching up out front. Oh, lord, what now?

He hurried to open the door and blinked at the sight of a red VW Microbus parked outside. The back door slid open and a bunch of happy flower children tumbled out. Mike cocked his head in curiosity, then noticed the last man getting out of the van, taking the hand of another man and easing his cane out to balance his exit from the vehicle.

“Josiah!” Mike exclaimed!

Josiah looked up and grinned. “Mike! Merry Christmas!”

Mike grinned back, then found himself being embraced by Micky’s San Francisco friends, Cathy, Dan, Paul, and Ginny. He’d met them several times during their visits to the city and they’d been down to Malibu a few times. “Hey, guys! I can’t believe you’re here!”

“Late invitation from Micky, but that’s Micky for you,” said Ginny, kissing Mike tenderly on the cheek as she made her way inside. “We decided to make the drive and we can crash in the van tonight.”

“Oh, you don’t gotta do that, I’m sure we can figure something out —” Mike said, but was distracted by greetings from the others and then he was looking at Josiah, who was accompanied by a tall, thin, serious-looking young man with very long brown hair tied back at the nape of his neck, and a beard.

Josiah beamed at him. He looked like an entirely different person than the drunk, miserable, bedraggled veteran Mike had met back in September. His middle-parted blond hair was nearly down to his shoulders and he’d shaved off his mustache. He wore a colorful flowered tunic, love beads, and looked healthy and happy. He opened his arms for a hug and Mike leaned in to receive it. “Wow, you look great, man.” He looked up at Josiah’s companion, assuming who it was, but waiting to be introduced.

“This is Matthew,” Josiah said, smiling proudly. “I, uh … we were really happy to get Micky’s invitation, inviting both of us. It means a lot, man.”

Mike extended a hand and Matthew shook it with a small smile. “Nice to meet you, Mike. Glad to meet one of Josiah’s Texas people. I think maybe the only one _worth_ meeting.”

Mike smiled and nodded. Josiah looked at him. “He knows, Mike. I told him everything.” He looked adoringly at Matthew. “We keep no secrets.”

Matthew shook his head. “Secrets are poison, brother. I’m glad you found it in your heart to forgive Josiah. You’re a good man, Mike.”

Mike felt his cheeks pink a little bit. He wasn’t used to such frankness, but that was what hippies were like. “Well, uh … of course, man … I …”

Josiah laughed affectionately. “May we come in?”

Mike shook his head, laughing, embarrassed. “Jeez, of course. Please. Welcome, both of you. Merry Christmas.” He stepped aside to let the two men enter, then closed the door.

“I hope you didn’t bring any pretzels.”

Josiah looked at him curiously. “No … we were supposed to?”

“Apparently Micky told everyone to.”

“Well, he must have forgotten. Josiah pulled the crumpled invitation from his pocket. “Nope … nothing about pretzels. But we didn’t come empty-handed!”

Matthew held up a woven bag. “Trail mix and herbal tea! One hundred percent organic.”

“… groovy,” Mike said, just relieved it wasn’t pretzels. “Just a warning that I think the punch has been spiked.”

“I expected no less,” said Josiah. “I’ve yet to go to a party where it wasn’t. With what, though … booze or drugs?”

“Booze, definitely.” Mike looked over at Nyles, who was scarfing down another bag of pretzels. “Drugs are a possibility.”

“Thanks for the warning,” said Matthew. “Josiah and I are off booze entirely.” He grinned at his partner. “Some drugs, though … the groovy kind.”

Josiah blushed. “Yeah … we’ve been experimenting with LSD. It’s … pretty far out.” Then, he grinned as he noticed someone in the room. “Maxine! Hey … Maxine!”

Maxine, who was chatting with Peter and Margie, looked over and furrowed her brow, clearly not recognizing Josiah off the bat.

Mike pointed at his friend and mouthed his name dramatically.

Maxine’s jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh! Josiah! Hi!” She excused herself from the group and struggled through the crowd to join them. “Look at you! You look —”

“Like I hadn’t just gotten my lights punched out by an angry Monkee,” Josiah said, chuckling. “Yeah … this is what my face normally looks like.” He looked at his boyfriend and they exchanged glances for a moment before Josiah said, “This is my … roommate, Matthew. We share a place in San Francisco and work at a health food store.”

“Pleased to meet you, Matthew,” Maxine said pleasantly, shaking his hand.

Mike discreetly patted Josiah on the small of his back and excused himself while the two caught up. He felt a pang of sadness. The secrecy they had to keep. It reminded him that on Christmas Day they’d go visit Micky’s family and Mike would still just only be a friend. A roommate.

* * *

Before long it felt like the door didn’t have a chance to close as a steady stream of guests came into the Pad. Mike had given up wondering how Micky had invited them all because Micky clearly didn’t seem to know, and it was starting to seem like a word-of-mouth situation was happening. People were lining up to sit in Mr. Schneider’s lap and tell him what they wanted for Christmas before pulling his string for responses such as, “Have you been good? But what _is_ the philosophical concept of goodness? And is it innate or learned?”

Their landlord, Mr. Babbitt, had poked his nose into the event, looking for an excuse to shut them down or threaten eviction, but after one glimpse of Joannie Janz, he was convinced to come in for some punch and a chance to meet the actress. Maxine and her friends were well aware of Babbitt and interference and they offered to help distract him with just enough ego-flattering to keep him sweet.

The Four Martians, The Foreign Agents, the Pelicans, and the Jolly Green Giants all arrived — all bearing pretzels. _Everyone_ brought pretzels. Mike had designated a corner of the Pad for the pretzels, but the heap of bags was growing and would be in toppling territory before long. They were going to have to start storing them in Davy and Peter’s room, likely.

Milly and Larry came by with a cheesecake that Mike determined to hide somewhere so Nyles didn’t eat it, but once the older couple caught a glimpse of the pandemonium inside, opted not to stay. But not before she was able to give all of her “boys” a proper Christmas greeting. And a lecture.

“You kids and your racket,” Milly tutted. “Back in my day we knew the value of good music. Good conversation! All you can do here is yell!”

“I know!” said Micky. “Ain’t it swell?”

“Oh, Mike, sweet Mike …” Milly pinched Micky’s cheek, causing him to wince.

“I’m Micky, he’s Mike.”

“Sure, sure, whatever. You boys have a very Merry Christmas and a happy new year. We’ll come by again when things aren’t so … crazy!”

“Good to see ya, Larry,” Mike said, patting the affable mover on the arm. “Married life seems to suit you.”

Larry smiled and tipped his hat. “It does, Mike. My Milly is a handful, but now I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Mike looked over at Milly and Micky good-naturedly nattering at one another and smiled. “Yeah, I think I know the feeling, Larry.”

Larry furrowed his brow slightly, but didn’t ask any further questions.

* * *

Davy looked up as the door opened and a general hush seemed to fall over the room for just a moment as the lovely April Conquest practically floated inside. One of the few chicks who had caused conflict for the band. Even Mike had been beguiled by her, despite his general preference for men. April was … beyond everything. But, in the end, even after they decided to let Peter “have” her, April left them all in the dust. But now she was here and without the long-haired singer she’d apparently gotten engaged to before dumping Peter.

_Does she want him back?_

Between this and the earlier arrival of Valerie Cartwright and the odious Ronnie Farnsworth, Davy found himself a little anxious about these former romantic interests of Peter’s coming back into the picture, short-lived as they’d been. Though he really had no claim over the bassist and wasn’t even sure he wanted to lay claim. Wasn’t sure he wanted much more than some cuddling and kissing. But he also wanted time and space to be able to think about that. But April … she was Kryptonite in the female form. No one could resist her.

But soon April was being fawned over by Rob Roy Fingerhead and Ronnie Farnsworth, who had literally turned their backs on a very cross Ellen and Joannie to introduce themselves and compete for her attention. Babbitt’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, but Joannie, hoping to make Ronnie jealous, brushed her fingers over his cheek and asked him to tell her more about his “wonderfully fascinating job.” Which was good — they needed Babbitt contained and he stood a snowball’s chance in hell with April.

Well, that sorted that. But then Davy looked over to see Peter dancing with Valerie and smiling, and well … Davy didn’t much like that.

Even though he had the lovely Gina paying him a great deal of attention and many other girls at the party, but Davy couldn’t stop looking at Peter and wondering if tonight was the night he’d lose him. _It’s not fair … I only just started caring about the chance of maybe_ keeping _him._

* * *

Somehow Micky heard the doorbell go off over the din of the guests. Now sporting a pointed party hat on each side of his head, nearly resembling the horns of a certain devil, Micky threw the door open and found himself looking at … himself.

But not exactly. Micky gulped. “… Babyface Morales!” He made to the slam the door shut in the gangster’s face, but Babyface was too fast for him and stuck his foot out to stop it.

“Cool yer jets, Jack,” Babyface said. “I ain’t here for no trouble. I gone straight, y’see? I got out of prison legit this time and I’m, uh, turnin’ over a new leaf.”

Micky cautiously opened the door again. “How … how did you know to come here?”

“Word gets around town, baby. I knew I wouldn’t make the guest list, but I figured I could crash if my intentions were uh … of the honorable variety, y’know? I come to make amends. Let bygones be bygones.”

Micky was nervous and didn’t exactly trust Babyface Morales further than he could throw him, but it was Christmas and his doppelganger looked and sounded different. He’d dropped the gangster suit and fedora and was dressed in simple slacks and a sweater. He held a wrapped gift in his hands. Micky took a breath and opened the door. “Well, come in, man. It’s the time of year for forgiveness and all that. I’m sorry I, uh, impersonated you, but to be fair, I was getting _shot at_ in the street by your enemies.”

“Not a problem,” Babyface said smoothly. “Here … I got this for you.”

At this point Mike had caught a glimpse of their newest guest and his eyes widened. He pushed his way through the crowd and appeared at Micky’s side. “Well, uh, hullo there.”

“Merry Christmas, string bean,” said Babyface. “I come to give my, uh, happy returns for the season. And a gift as a show of good faith.” He held the box out.

“Well, that’s awful charitable of you, Babyface,” Mike said, accepting the box. “It’s, uh … it’s … ticking.” Then he looked at Micky.

Micky’s eyes widened and they looked at each other in horror, exclaiming in unison, “IT’S TICKING!”

Babyface furrowed his brow, “Well, yeah, it’s ticking, cuz —”

But Mike was already pushing through the crowd, yelling, “Outta my way! It’s ticking … it’s a bomb, you don’t understand! Naw, of course you don’t understand because this kinda nonsense never happens to anyone but us! Clear out! Lemme through!”

Micky followed him and Babyface brought up the rear as Mike flung himself out onto the sundeck, yelling, “LOOK OUT BELOW! RUN!” as he hucked the box over the balcony before flattening himself to the floor and plugging his ears.

Nothing happened.

Mike slowly opened his eyes and unplugged his ears, looking cautiously over the balcony.

“It’s an alarm clock, Slim!” Babyface exclaimed. “A real nice one, too. It’s a … like … a symbol, y’see? _Time_ for us to be pals! Jeez, you think I’m so rotten that I’d come to a Christmas party and give you a _bomb_?”

Micky and Mike stared at him.

Babyface let out long puff of breath. “Wow. I see I got some work to do on my new reputation.”

Mike slowly got to his feet. “I, uh … I’ll … just go down there and retrieve your generous gift, shall I?” He grimaced and headed down the stairs to the beach.

Micky chuckled uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. Babyface rolled his eyes and turned to look back inside at the party guests. “Whoah, mama. Who. Is. That?” He nodded in the direction of April Conquest.

“Oh, her? That’s April. She’s somethin’ else, eh, man?” Micky remarked.

Babyface keenly watched as April was fawned over by Rob Roy Fingerhead and Ronnie Farnsworth, much to the chagrin of the pouting Ellen and Joannie. “So, uh, what’s her story?”

Micky shrugged. “She digs classical music and ballet and pop art and motorcycles.”

Babyface nodded. “Yeah, yeah, she looks like a classy broad. But you got another angle for me? Lookit at those two college-boy idiots hangin’ off her.”

“Um, she owns the laundromat in town and she’s doing her PhD in laundry sciences. She’s really into the biology of stains and dirt.”

Babyface snapped his fingers. “Bingo.” He patted Micky on the shoulder. “Watch how it’s done, kid.” He went back inside, with Micky following curiously. Babyface went up to the table with the punch bowl and snacks. He calmly poured a glass of punch and then, just as calmly, poured it down the front of his pale blue sweater. He looked at Micky, who was gaping at him. “Oops. I slipped. Clumsy me.” Then he picked up a chip, loaded it up with a big gob of dip … and dropped it on his sweater. “Oh, butterfingers,” he said.

He winked at Micky then walked right up to April, bodily shoving Rob Roy and Ronnie aside. “Excuse me, miss, but I’m told only you can help me with my very unique situation.” Babyface gestured at the mess on his sweater. “I appear to have soiled my favorite sweater while trying to enjoy some of these here refreshments. I know time is of the essence and I was wondering if you, a skilled laundry scientist, might be able to assist me.”

“Oh!” April exclaimed breathily, turning the full force of her dazzling attention upon Babyface. “How simply dreadful! But I can certainly help you! We must get to a laundry facility immediately! I know just the place.”

“Fantastic,” said Babyface. “We can take my motorcycle.”

April beamed with delight. Rob Roy’s and Ronnie’s jaws dropped in unison.

Babyface held out his arm and April took it. “Merry Christmas, Monkees!” he called out over his shoulder and walked out the door with the prettiest girl in the room. Micky stared after him, gobsmacked. Mission accomplished in less than forty-five seconds. He let out a low whistle. “That’s skill, man. He should be giving lessons.”

Rob Roy and Ronnie guiltily turned back to Joannie and Ellen, who sniffed in contempt and stalked off to another part of the room.

* * *

Peter excused himself to use the bathroom, which was, incredibly, not occupied at the moment. He didn’t really have to go, but he needed an excuse to get away from Valerie. Funny how things worked out. Not so long ago he’d been pining for her. Fawning over the portrait he’d accidentally stolen from her house. But, in the end, he’d had more to say to the portrait than the real girl. The guys had done their best to smooth the way and give him a chance with the beautiful debutante, but they hadn’t had very much to talk about. And that fact was making itself apparent again. When they weren’t dancing, Peter had no idea what to say to her. They had no real interests in common and completely different upbringings. Peter hoped that maybe if he cooled his heels in the john for a little while that someone else might pique her interest.

Peter couldn’t stop thinking about Davy. Keeping one eye on him the whole evening as he was swarmed by girls. He definitely had his pick tonight and he wondered how long it would be until Davy went home with one of them. This had never used to bother him before, but now it gave him a strangely sick, lonely feeling in the pit of his belly. Remembering the way Davy had held him after his nightmare. The way Davy had kissed him. So gentle and sweet. He wanted more of that, but really wasn’t sure what Davy wanted. If Davy wanted anything.

* * *

Micky sidled up behind Mike and rested his chin on his lover’s shoulder. Mike flinched, then realized it was Micky. He smiled a little, but tensed when Micky slipped his arms around Mike’s waist and hugged him from behind.

“Micky!” Mike whispered.

“No one will notice,” said Micky, chuckling in Mike’s ear. “Look at this insanity. Try yelling something out.”

“Huh?”

“THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!” Micky hollered.

No one batted an eyelash, just kept dancing and yelling and laughing.

Mike blinked. “Huh. Well, that’s somethin’. Hang on, lemme try. RAQUEL WELCH JUST WALKED IN AND SHE’S NAKED!”

“I HAVE A SECRET TWIN BROTHER IN FRANCE!”

“THERE IS NO FRUIT!”

“THE MONKEES ARE SECRETLY ANIMATRONIC ROBOTS!”

They both doubled over with laughter, and then, brazenly, Micky cradled Mike’s face between his hands and kissed him tenderly … right in the middle of the crowd.

Mike melted into the kiss, but gasped and pulled away, looking around.

No one was looking at them.

“I think we may have created an alternate dimension,” Micky said. “Completely alone in a crowd.”

Mike grinned and touched Micky’s face briefly. “You’re crazy, boy. But it’s part of why I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mike.”

“But now I pose the question: How the hell are we gonna get all these damn people outta our house? It’s getting real late and it’s showin’ no signs of coolin’ down. We got Babbitt under control, but the other neighbors? They’re gonna call the cops, man.”

Micky nodded. “Let’s have a meeting. Upstairs in five minutes. We gotta figure something out. I’ll find Peter and Davy.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Peter had exited the bathroom and looked out over the crowd. And then his eyes met Davy’s across the room and they grinned at each other. Peter held up a finger and mouthed _Wait there_ , before making his way through the crowd, deftly dodging dance invitations and conversational traps, determined to make it over to Davy. And then he was standing in front of the little Brit and they grinned stupidly at each other.

“Hi, Davy.”

“Hey, Pete.”

“It’s … a real weird night.”

“Yeah … hadn’t seen you for a while. You all right?”

“I’m all right. But … I’m … still thinking about last night. I wondered if you were, too.”

Davy blushed. “Yeah, I am. It’s … I don’t know what it is, Peter.”

Peter looked into the kitchen and nodded in that direction. “Move in there. I wanna tell you something.”

Davy cocked his head, curious. It was rare for Peter to state a directive of any kind, but he seemed to have an idea. In fact, he seemed to have a lot of ideas about things Davy knew nothing about. He backed up into the kitchen and caught glance of yet another batch of mistletoe hanging from the overhead light.”

Peter stood right in front of him. “No one can see you if I stand right here. And I want to kiss you, Davy.”

Davy blinked and wrung his hands anxiously. “Right here? In front of everyone?”

“In front of no one,” Peter murmured. “No one’s looking. No one can see you behind me. I’ll protect you, Davy. But I don’t want to be with any girls tonight. I just want to kiss you.”

Davy looked away shyly. “Yeah … I know the feeling. But I’m scared, Peter.”

“Don’t be scared. It’s just a kiss.” And then Peter leaned in, took Davy in his arms, and kissed him. Davy was struck by the electricity again and suddenly he didn’t care that he was in a room full of people. Peter was tall and strong in this moment and when he said he’d protect Davy, he believed it.

* * *

Micky got up on his tiptoes, looking for his bandmates, but curiously unable to catch sight of them. Until he got closer to the kitchen and saw Peter from behind. He was kissing someone under the mistletoe, but all Micky could see was a smaller pair of arms wrapped around Peter’s torso.

Peter partially turned, grinning and blushing and then Micky astonished to see that the person Peter had been kissing was … Davy!

“I … uh … HUH?” he stammered, pointing at them.

Peter’s and Davy’s heads whipped around to stare at Micky.

Micky’s brow furrowed, but he smiled. “So, like … is this is a thing now?”

Davy blushed furiously. “Dunno, man. It’s … new. I tried … I tried to talk to you about it earlier in the week, but you were too focused on getting laid to talk to me about it when I needed to.”

Micky frowned. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry, Davy. I totally forgot about that. I was … distracted. Yeah.”

“Thinking with your other brain,” Davy said.

Micky raised his eyebrows. “Hi, pot, meet kettle. Two of you making out under the mistletoe in the middle of a party?”

“Hey, sometimes being short has its advantages!” said Davy. “I got this tree of a man to hide behind.”

Peter beamed happily. “I’m his tree.” And then he looked at Davy. “You could have talked to me, y’know. You can always talk to me, Davy.”

Davy blushed furiously, but smiled.

Micky grinned at both of them. “We’ll, uh … just have to deal with all this later, but if it’s going to be a thing, then I’m real happy for you both! But right now we gotta figure out how to put the kibosh on this runaway-train party. We’re gonna get the cops called on us if we let it go this wild much longer. Mike’s waiting for us upstairs.”

Peter and Davy nodded and followed Micky up to the second floor.

* * *

The party looked even crazier from the raised vantage point. The Monkees leaned on the railing and gazed over the chaos below.

“Are those … the Dancing Smoothies? Gee, you’d think they be more sore at us after we pretended to hold them up and then stole their clothes.”

“Hey, look! It’s Kimba and Jane!”

“Where’d that vine come from?”

“Same one Tarzan used last time we threw a party, Mrs. Arcadian.”

“Oh, shut up. What are we gonna do, guys?”

Mike frowned for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “We gotta take control of this thing, right?”

They agreed in unison. “Right!”

“And this time of year has a very prescribed style of music, right?”

“Right!”

“So … we go play. Maybe get the other bands to join in with us. A good ol’ Christmas singalong.”

“How is that going to encourage people to leave?”

“Well,” Mike said, “I think it may keep the neighbors off our backs if it sounds like caroling in here instead of a wild shindig. And then we can try to ease the energy level down. Pete, you can do your banjo number.”

“Okay, Michael. I can do that.”

“And … maybe we wrap up with that new a cappella number that we were too chicken to try out at the other parties.”

Micky looked at Mike. “‘Ríu Chíu’? Are you sure?”

Mike shrugged. “It’s a real pretty thing when we get it right. But I also figure most of the people in this room are pretty looped on Mrs. Weefers’s magic punch, and lord knows what else, so even if we screw it up it will probably sound okay to them.”

“Okay, Mike. Sounds good.”

“All right, fellas. Let’s get down there and get set up.”

* * *

They went downstairs and set up on the bandstand. The tree took up a lot of space, so they were more cramped than usual. The pretzel mountain seemed to have spread, as well, but they made it work.

Mike cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. “Hey, everyone … hey … quiet down a sec …”

No one seemed to notice until Davy grabbed his mic and yelled, “OI! TOSSERS!” into it and heads all whipped their way. Micky burst into laughter and Peter grinned.

Mike smirked. “Thanks, Davy. Mighty festive of you. Hey, everyone. We’re all real glad you could join us on this fine Christmas Eve-Eve and now we’d like to play some holiday tunes and hope you’ll sing along with us. I think you’ll know the words.”

They’d agreed on a basic setlist — some numbers they’d rehearsed and some they would just have to wing as Mike called out chords to Peter and Micky tapped out a basic beat. They did the more modern “rock” Christmas songs at first. Some of the guys from the other bands jumped up to chime in on melodies or grab an extra tambourine or maraca Davy wasn’t using while the guests sang and danced. But, gradually, the Monkees began to bring the energy down, delving into more traditional Christmas carols like “Silent Night” and “The First Noel” and “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” It was rather nice to look out into the crowd and see so many friendly faces. Mike saw Josiah and Matthew standing close together and Matthew press a discreet kiss to Josiah’s temple while huge smile bloomed over his old friend’s face. There would have been a time where Mike would have been furious with jealousy to see a scene like that, but that time had long passed and he felt a peaceful sense of happiness for Josiah. And a more complete sense of healing for himself over old, past pain. What Josiah had done to him back in Dallas could never be undone, but Mike had come to understand the pain Josiah had been in and how trapped he’d felt. He’d done the only thing he’d known how to do in that terrible moment. And he was regretful and remorseful and was trying to better himself. Be true to himself. Just like Mike was. What more could Mike ask of him now?

Finally, Mike nodded to Peter and he replaced his bass with his banjo and played “O Holy Night,” and, thankfully, the guests were mostly quiet and reverent, and some were moved to tears the way Davy had been. Davy himself kept his composure this time, but that mostly because he knew he was being watched, but also he was remembering their kiss and knowing that tonight he’d be alone with Peter in their room together and there would probably be more.

After they applauded wildly for Peter, Mike leaned into the mic and said, “For our last number, we have something real special we been workin’ on. It’s in Spanish and it’s what’s called a _villancico_ and it’s a real, real old, beautiful tune. We ain’t got it quite perfect yet, but we know we’re among friends and you’ll be kind about it. It’s a been great time with y’all and this is how we want to say good night.”

Mike and Peter took off their guitars, Micky moved out from behind the kit and they all stood around Davy’s mic. Micky lit a candle he’d had ready for the song and they launched into “Ríu Chíu,” for better or for worse.

But it felt like magic. The audience — made of their friends and all kinds of people they’d encountered over the course of their strange lives together so far — was so quiet a pin could drop. And when the final note tremored off their tongues and Micky blew out the candle, there was applause and tears. And then they were being hugged and kissed and thanked and there was a bit of chaos as people tried to dig their coats out from beneath the bags of pretzels that had migrated into Peter and Davy’s room, but gradually, people thankfully began to depart.

But then Mike felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Josiah smiling at him.

“Hey, Joe! I mean —”

Josiah cut him off. “It’s okay, Mike … you can call me Joe.” He looked into Mike’s eyes. “You always saw me for who I was, even when I was just Joe Williams. You can still call me that. I’m sorry I was so hung up on that last time. I was … I was really messed up. I had nowhere to go except to find you.”

Mike swallowed and nodded. “I know, Joe. I’m … I know you were going through a rough time. And I’m glad you’re doing better now.”

“I’m doing great,” said Josiah. But then he started to laugh. Mike smiled and looked at him curiously. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t come over for us to get all soppy, but that was nice. But, um … we have a small problem.”

“Huh?”

Josiah pointed toward the door of the Pad with his cane. “Best I just show you. We’re not sure what to do.”

Mike furrowed his brow, but followed Josiah outside, where Matthew, Ginny, Paul, Cathy, and Dan were standing outside of their van.

“What’s goin’ on, guys?” Mike asked.

Paul snorted. “Look in the window.”

Mike peered inside the small window and saw Nyles and … Mrs. Weefers passed out inside.

Mike lifted a hand to his face. “Oh, my lord,” he murmured. “You don’t think …”

“No!” Ginny cracked up. “No … can you smell it, Mike?”

Mike sniffed, then Dan eased the door partially open and the smell of pot poured out of the van.

“Oh, my god. Nyles …”

“Is that his name?” Cathy giggled. “Nyles turned the old lady on!”

“And then some,” Mike murmured.

Just then, Micky wandered up. “Hey, guys, what’s happening?”

Ginny grabbed Micky and whispered into his ear and Micky’s jaw dropped. He looked inside and nearly fell over laughing. “OH MY GOD!”

“What do we do?” Paul asked.

“Jesus,” Mike said. “All right. This fella just lives two doors up. I got this.” He crawled into the van and shook Nyles. “Nyles … Nyles … man! Wake up!”

Nyles finally stirred and blinked at Mike. “Hey … hey, man. Merry Christmas!”

Mike chuckled. “Ain’t Christmas just yet, good buddy. I need you to get out of the van and I’ll walk you home, okay?”

“Oh … okay.” Nyles all but poured himself out of the van and Mike hauled one arm over his shoulders. He looked at Micky. “I think someone will need to carry Mrs. Weefers inside. She’s probably out for the night. She can sleep on the sofa.”

Micky nodded. “We’ll take care of it, Mike.”

“Be back in a few minutes. C’mon Nyles … time for sweet dreams …”

* * *

And finally, all was still. The San Francisco group was settled back in their van to sleep a few hours before driving back north up the coast. Micky was settled in bed when Mike came back from taking Nyles home.

Micky smiled at his lover as Mike began to undress. “Get Nyles settled in okay?”

Mike nodded. “He parked himself on the sofa and passed out.”

“It was a fun party.”

“It sure was. But, man, we got a job ahead of us tomorrow cleanin’ the place up.”

Micky held open the covers and slipped his arms around Mike as he climbed into bed with Micky. “I had an idea about that.”

“Oh yeah,” Mike nuzzled into Micky’s neck, breathing in his scent. Part of him wanted to make love, but the other part of him just needed to go sleep.

Micky stroked Mike’s hair. “We’ll do a montage.”

“Hmmm?”

“You know, when we got a really hard, long job ahead of us … we make it go by faster with a montage. And that silly piano track plays and we do everything in triple time and then it’s all over in about a minute. Like when Milly moved in and we had to haul all of her furniture. Or when we were decorating for the last party. It’s a lot more fun and then we’ll have time to make our Christmas Eve dinner.”

“You’re so smart, Micky,” Mike said sleepily. “We’ll do that in the morning. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mike. Merry Christmas Eve-Eve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to IMDB and other sources, the Monkees' sometimes-cleaning lady's name is spelled Mrs. Weefers. Given all the strange names ascribed to the bit players on the show, it seems about right.
> 
> Please forgive any typos/errors. I will do some more editing later, but I had given myself a deadline for this chapter and wanted to get it up or else I will just keep picking at it when I need to pack for the holidays. #fanficwriterproblems


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note rating change: now marked Explicit for the sexy-times contained in this chapter.
> 
> The boys recover after the party and enjoy some very private celebrating on Christmas morning. The celestials are surprised by a new and strange addition to their ranks.

Christmas Eve flew by as the Monkees cleaned up after the huge party (they only seemed to be able to use a maximum of two montages a day at best, so it still took them some time to get their home back to rights again) and prepped for their annual Christmas Eve feast. Part of the tradition was keeping Peter out of the kitchen without making him feel like he was being kept out of the kitchen, but this year was easier because Peter was completely and utterly distracted by Davy Jones and the feeling was mutual. Mike and Micky watched them curiously as they worked together to get the chicken in the oven so they could eat dinner at a reasonable hour. Micky had told Mike about seeing them kissing in the kitchen and Mike had told him he’d suspected something like this had been brewing for some time. Davy and Peter weren’t advertising their growing bond, but they sat close together, Davy was sat practically in Peter’s lap and they talked quietly, occasionally giggling over a joke and smiling happily at one another.

“Ah, _l’amour_!” Micky sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Were we ever that innocent?”

“I don’t think you were ever all that innocent, Mick,” Mike quipped, tucking some fresh herbs under the trussing twine and pouring in a mix of chopped potatoes and vegetables to roast with the bird. “You dirty little looky-loo.”

Micky turned his attention back to Mike, blushing scarlet, but Mike smiled at him affectionately. “And thank the lord for that. I was just gonna pine quietly from afar for the rest of my days in the agony of unrequited love and lust.” He raised a dramatic hand to his forehand. “Oh, pine, pine, pine!”

Micky giggled and wrapped his arms around Mike from behind, kissing his neck. “You put on quite a show without knowing it, cowboy. Sexy as all get-out.”

Now it was Mike’s turn to blush. “Oh, hush, you.” He gently shrugged out of Micky’s embrace as he opened the oven and slid the roasting pan inside. “Well, there we go. Now I just hope we can finish cookin’ this thing before something crazy happens. Seems like way too often we only get a quiet moment to eat when the food is lousy or we’re just havin’ cereal. It’s weird, man.”

“Not me,” said Micky, grabbing a slice of bread from the bag and taking a bite.

“Well that’s ’cuz you’re always eating, Micky. I don’t know where you put it all.”

Micky winked. “Sure you do. Pure fuel, man. Keeps my engine running. All the best drummers are high-octane and that’s how I wanna be.”

“You’re that and then some, babe.” Mike finished washing his hands and tugged Micky in for a kiss. “And more, actually.”

“It’s gonna be a while until dinner, won’t it?” Micky murmured softly against Mike’s lips. “We could go upstairs for a little while?”

“No can do, kid. Gotta keep an eye on the bird. Because those two lovebirds over there can’t be trusted to do it. And you’re not allowed near the oven, anyway.”

“Rats.”

Mike chuckled. “C’mon, let’s go rain on their parade. Maybe there’s something fun to watch on TV. I like that stop-motion puppet story about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

Micky grinned. “You do? The one with Burl Ives and Yukon Cornelius? Why Mike, you ol’ softie …”

“Hush, I said!” Mike said, blushing again, but smiling gently as Micky kissed him on the cheek. Micky knew well by now that Mike had a much softer side than what he usually showed others. But he could show it to his bandmates and that was more than enough.

* * *

A couple of hours later, after Micky’s Yukon Cornelius impression turned into a one-man performance of the Frosty the Snowman story, the Monkees sat down to the dinner. And nothing crazy happened. They just toasted another Christmas Eve and another year as a band. Maybe they hadn’t found fame and fortune yet, but at least they were all together.

* * *

_Christmas Day_

Davy blinked awake, then started. “Ah … gah … Peter!”

Peter was crouched by Davy’s bed, their faces barely inches apart.

“It’s Christmas, Davy!”

Davy grinned, shaking his head. “Happy Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas, Davy!” Peter smiled back, his face dimpling sweetly. He held up a small box wrapped in a scrap of floral fabric and tied with a ribbon. “I got you something.”

“Aw, Peter, that’s sweet. You didn’t have to.” Davy accepted the box and looked at it as he moved into a sitting position.

“Open it!” Peter urged.

Davy looked at him. “Right now? Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the guys?”

Peter shook his head. “No. I can’t wait. Please open it now.”

Davy grinned. “Okay, then.” He untied the ribbon, unwrapped the box, then opened it. He let out a soft gasp. “Ahhh, this is totally groovy, Peter! Gear!” He lifted out a delicate beaded necklace.

“You like it?” Peter said, happy but also a tiny bit anxious.

“It’s outta sight, man. I love it.” Davy slipped the necklace over his head and held it up, admiring it.

Peter admired the way the beads looked against the smooth, tanned skin of Davy’s bare chest. “They’re love beads, Davy.”

Davy blushed faintly, but nodded. “I know, Peter. They’re really groovy. I’ll wear it all the time. Where … where you did get it?”

Now it was Peter’s turn to blush. “Oh, well. I didn’t really have any money, but I had these two other strings that I wasn’t wearing very much but I thought the colors would look really nice mixed together and … on you. So I took ’em apart and restrung it for you.”

“Well, see, that’s even better,” said Davy. “You took something you had and made it better … and gave it away. That’s the giving spirit, babe.”

Peter beamed with pleasure. Davy frowned. “But … I didn’t really get you anything Peter. I’m sorry. I feel like a right berk.”

“That’s okay, Davy. I don’t want anything.”

“Nothing at all?”

Peter smiled a little. “Well, maybe one thing.”

Davy set the box aside and met Peter’s eyes, pretty certain he knew what “one thing” was. “And what’s that, babe?”

“If you could kiss me the way you kissed me at the party. I’d take that for Christmas and my birthday!”

Davy giggled. “I’ll get you somethin’ even better for your birthday.” He leaned forward, cradling Peter’s cheek in his hand, then threading his fingers through Peter’s hair at the back of his neck and pulling him in gently to kiss him. Peter made a soft sound in the back of his throat and parted his lips as Davy licked into his mouth.

God, it was good. Even in the light of day, without anything impairing his judgment, it was really good. Peter was making soft, hungry sounds and leaning into him and it was so easy to just pull him into bed and roll on top of him, kissing him again and again. They were both wearing nothing except pajama bottoms and Davy enjoyed the feeling of skin-on-skin contact, though it was a little different with Peter’s flat, muscled, lightly haired chest compared to when he was getting close to a bird.

He felt Peter getting hard against him and it was also a little weird, but not as weird as he would have once thought. If anything, he felt a bit proud that he could turn Peter on this way. He nuzzled into Peter’s neck and Peter whimpered his name and Davy reckoned it was about one of the nicest sounds he’d ever heard. And he intended to ensure Peter made more of them.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mike awoke with a soft moan. His eyes fluttered opened and he could feel Micky’s warm lips on his chest, nuzzling into his fur and licking and sucking at his nipples while his hand stroked over Mike’s chest and firm belly.

“Oh, Micky,” he murmured sleepily, feeling a warmth building low in his groin. “You still hungry after last night?”

They’d stuffed themselves silly the previous night for their traditional Christmas Eve feast. The idea was not only to celebrate another year of being together as a group and managing to keep a roof over their heads, but to eat as much as they could manage so they wouldn’t have to really eat again until they went to the Dolenz home for Christmas dinner and Micky’s mom would feed them and not stop feeding them until it was time to go home and even then she’d send them home with leftovers for days.

Mike had been too stuffed do much of anything last night, but he’d given Micky a blowjob because the younger boy’s metabolism was so fierce that he never felt full or satisfied for long. In this case, he hadn’t been hungry for food. And though he was coming up on twenty years old, Micky still got keyed up and excited on Christmas Eve, like he had since he was a small boy. So Mike had gotten him off in an attempt to help him settle down and go to sleep. And it had worked. Until now.

Micky was nuzzling and nibbling at Mike’s neck now, rubbing his nipples and siding his hand down to tease the trail of dark hair leading from Mike’s belly button to the base of his cock. “That was hours ago,” he murmured. “Besides … I’ve never had sex on Christmas morning before. Have you?”

“Can’t say that I have,” said Mike softly, smiling. “At least not with anybody else.”

Micky giggled softly. “C’mon, baby. I wanna suck your cock. And I want you to watch me suck your cock.”

“Filthy boy,” Mike said, but the words were filled with affection as he groaned and slowly sat up, leaning back against the bedframe. Micky kissed down his torso and then peppered Mike’s skinny thighs with kisses before taking him into his mouth, all warmth and wet. Mike felt the familiar pull and let out a low groan as he stroked a hand over his Micky’s curls. “Slow, baby, slow. Real slow. Lord knows you can make me go off like a rocket when you put your mind to it. But let’s just take it slow this morning, my love. We have time. Let me enjoy this. Let me enjoy _you_.”

Micky glanced up at Mike, smiling at him with his eyes and making a soft sound. He reduced the pressure of his mouth and went slower, sometimes pausing to lick and lap at Mike’s shaft while slowly stroking him. But he loved the way it felt as Mike’s cock grew hard and thick in his mouth.

Even though it had been several months and Micky had gone down on Mike dozens of times, the novelty hadn’t worn off for Mike. He doubted it ever would. The way Micky looked when he was sucking Mike’s cock. It was indescribably erotic. Especially right now when he was going so slow and sweet. Mike stroked his hand over Micky’s cheek as Micky licked a long stripe up the underside of his shaft and Mike slipped his thumb into Micky’s mouth and let him suck on that for a while. Felt almost as good as on his dick.

“That mouth oughta come with a warning label,” he joked affectionately.

Micky waggled his eyebrows and lightly bit Mike’s thumb.

“Oooh!” Mike faux-winced, taking his thumb back. “You best not be doin’ that downstairs.”

“Never,” Micky said solemnly.

Mike smiled and rolled on top of Micky, pressing him back into the pillows and reaching for the lubricant as Micky parted his legs. They had sex so often that Mike didn’t really need to finger Micky beforehand anymore … unless it was something to just enjoy on its own. And then Mike was drinking in the soft, gasping moan Micky always let out when Mike entered him. Micky clutched at Mike’s shoulders and rolled his hips up, clenching around Mike’s cock. “Fuck me …” he murmured. “I need you …”

“Slow down, you’re moving too fast,” Mike whispered, brushing his lips over Micky’s. “You gotta make the moment last.”

Micky chuckled softly. “Are you … singing Simon and Garfunkel to me … during sex?”

“Maybe,” Mike said with a grin, stroking his hand over Micky’s cheek and his hair. He pulled back, nearly out and sank slowly into Micky again, causing them both to moan. “I just want it slow and sweet this morning. For as long as we can take it. I wanna make love to you. You’re the best gift I could ever ask for on Christmas.”

Micky blushed faintly, wrapping his arms loosely around Mike’s slender waist, running his hands over his ass as Mike moved inside him, slow and deep. Micky let out a shuddering sigh, arching his back as Mike trailed kisses down his neck and throat and teased Micky’s nipples with his lips and tongue.

“Oh, Mike,” Micky moaned. “Please …”

“I am pleasin’ you,” Mike joked softly, circling a nipple with the tip of his tongue as he slid his cock deep inside. Most people knew Micky at his manic best. Always in motion, always talking, always making a joke. They didn’t know him like this … soft and quiet and vulnerable when Mike made him slow down and just _feel_ as they made love. His face in an expression of both bliss and pure desire. A burning need that he couldn’t even articulate as Mike continued to slide his cock in and out of him, so slow and gentle and deep that it was making Micky crazy.

Micky wanted more but he also just wanted it just like this. Mike’s cock inside him, Mike’s tongue in his mouth, Mike’s hands on his body. Mike’s kind heart in Micky’s hands, where he would protect it with his life. He knew that now. When Mike raised his head to look at him, Micky kissed the scar on his chin, and then his soft lips.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I really love you, Mike.”

“I love you, too, Micky.” And then they were kissing, slow and deep, but everything felt so good. Almost too good and Mike started moving a little faster. A little harder. Micky moaned and rocked up to meet him. “Mike …” he gasped. “Yes … Mike … please …”

“You want more?” Mike groaned.

“Yes. I need it. Please. Give it to me.”

“I always wanna give you what you need, babe.” And then Mike pulled out and turned Micky over onto his stomach. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat as he looked at Micky’s pert little ass. Some might say it wasn’t much of an ass. He didn’t fill out a pair of Levis the way Mike could, but Mike loved it all the same. And then he was spreading Micky open and sinking back into him as Micky let out deep, satisfied groan.

Mike began to move, thrusting deep and hard and moving faster.

“Yes …” Micky gasped, gripping the edge of the mattress with his hands. “Oh god, yes. Mike …”

Mike slipped a hand under Micky’s hips to wrap his fingers around his erection, squeezing it gently and increasing the friction from his thrusts. He braced his weight on his left arm and buried his face in the nape of Micky’s neck, breathing in his scent while his soft, curly hair caressed his face. Micky bit back a cry, gasping, “Oh god, yeah, Mike … just like that … please … don’t stop …”

Mike groaned and did as he was asked … maintaining the same speed and angle as he felt Micky getting close to the edge. Micky’s hands were white-knuckled in their grip on the edge of the mattress and he rocked back with each thrust as Mike hit him so deep. His eyes rolled back in his head as his climax approached and everything went a little fuzzy and then blinding white as he came, letting out a strangled cry as every nerve ending sang.

Mike let Micky drag him over the edge with him as his muscles clenched around him, wringing his orgasm out of him and he let out a shuddering groan as he spilled himself into Micky, helpless under the waves of pleasure washing over him.

And then, with the fraction of energy he had left, Mike pulled them both onto their sides, still inside Micky, but taking his hand off his cock and holding him close, face buried in his neck. Micky gasped, chest heaving, his hands moving down to cover Mike’s hands, stroking his arms wrapped around Micky’s slender body. Micky’s muscles still fluttering around Mike’s cock as he too still pulsed faintly inside. It still amazed Mike that sex could be like this. That it could be so good. It wasn’t always mind-blowing and it wasn’t always effortless. Sometimes it was awkward and sometimes it was weird, but with Micky it was never bad.

“Merry Christmas,” Mike finally managed to croak after a minute or two.

Micky let out a raspy chuckle. “I’m coming for Christmas this year, baby.”

Mike snorted. “That … that … Micky! Blasphemer!”

“If having great sex with a loving partner on Christmas morning is a one-way ticket to hell … well, I gotta tell ya, pal, I’ve done much more questionable things than that.”

Mike nuzzled behind Micky’s ear, then teased the lobe with his teeth. Micky smiled and shivered. “You make me so crazy,” Mike murmured. “You drive me wild. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I suppose we should get up soon and ring in the holiday with the guys.”

“Mmmm.” And then they were quiet for a few moments … during which certain sounds could be heard coming through the floor.

“Mike … is that what I think …”

Mike chuckled. “Well, then. I guess we aren’t the only ones waking up in a special way this morning.”

“Guess who’s coming for Christmas?”

“Micky. STOP.”

“Make me, why doncha?”

* * *

Davy and Peter had been kissing for a good fifteen minutes now. Tentatively touching each other, but above the waist at the moment. They were both achingly hard and both scared and exhilarated by what they were doing together.

Peter was an incredibly good kisser — Davy wasn’t sure why this fact surprised him, but it did. Just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of tongue, not too fast or slow. And the soft moans he made every so often. Davy had no desire to stop any time soon and it appeared that Peter felt the same way.

The kiss broke and then Peter was kissing and nibbling at Davy’s neck, stroking a hand over his smooth, bare chest.

“I want to touch you …” he murmured into Davy’s skin. “May I touch you, Davy? Please?”

Davy’s breath caught in his throat. He was so turned on … so hard … but also scared. The kissing was one thing, but if he let Peter touch him … get him off … what did that mean?

“Peter … I don’t know … I wanna, but …”

“I wanna make you feel good, Davy.”

“I do feel good. Almost too good.”

Peter lifted his head and smiled guilelessly at Davy. “Is there a such thing?”

Davy furrowed his brow. “I … I dunno. I’m just … I’m scared, Peter. I dig this … I really dig you … but we’re mates n’all, and what if we’re … what if we ruin our friendship. I don’t even know that I’m truly into blokes, but I like kissing you and —”

Peter cut him off with a gentle kiss, holding it until Davy relaxed a little in his embrace. “You’re flipping out, Davy. And I get it. This is freaky for me, too. But I like it.”

“I like it, too,” said Davy softly. “It’s really groovy. But …”

Peter smiled. “You’re used to having a short, intense fling and then breaking it off and never seeing the girl ever again.”

“Well … yeah.”

“And you can’t do that with me.”

“No. And I don’t wanna, Pete. You’re my mate and we have the band and I dig living here with you and the fellas. But what if I ruin everything?”

Peter shrugged. “What if you don’t?”

Davy frowned. “Peter!”

“What? What if you don’t? What if maybe … this is different. It feels different. You don’t have any stars in your eyes.”

“That don’t mean anythin’.”

“I think it does. But I also think getting too far ahead of ourselves is a bad idea, Davy. Don’t you think? Can’t we just … be? I just wanna be with you right now.” Peter’s fingers danced over Davy’s chest, toying with the love beads, then tracing circles around Davy’s nipple and beginning to move lower. Davy swallowed and felt a fresh rush of arousal go straight to his dick. “Peter …” he murmured.

“Tell me to stop,” Peter whispered. “And I will. Just tell me to stop, Davy.”

But as Peter’s fingers reached the waistband of Davy’s pajama bottoms, Davy was unable to tell him to stop. And when Peter slipped his hand into his pajamas and wrapped his long, strong fingers around Davy’s erection, he let out an involuntary whimper that made him blush, but then Peter’s mouth was on his again and Peter was stroking him and Davy stopped thinking so much then. They were simply kissing passionately, and Davy’s hips began to thrust into Peter’s hand. And then Davy was gasping softly as Peter kissed his neck, murmuring hot against his skin, “Does it feel good, Davy?”

“Uh-huh,” Davy mumbled, barely able to think, let alone speak. “S’good … s’good …”

His eyes fluttered shut as Peter watched him keenly, wanting to see what Davy looked like when he came undone.

He was not disappointed. It was a sight to behold when Davy’s body tensed up and his mouth dropped open, then stretched into a happy smile as he let out a series of gasping moans as he came. Peter smiled and kept stroking him until Davy went quiet and still, breathing hard.

Peter slipped his hand out of Davy’s pajamas and wiped it on the sheets. Then Peter reached into his own pajamas and brought out his cock. Davy blinked.

“Peter, I …”

“It’s okay, Davy. You were beautiful. You were perfect. You really turn me on. I’m gonna touch myself, okay?”

Davy’s thoughts were still sluggish after his orgasm, so all he could do was nod dumbly and watch as Peter began to stroke his erection, groaning softly.

Sharing a bedroom where they usually changed clothes, Davy had seen Peter naked plenty of times, but never when he was aroused. His cock was … huge.

“Crikey, Peter,” Davy murmured. “Give a bloke a complex, willya?”

“No need for that,” Peter said. “Size is meaningless. Your cock is beautiful, Davy. I’m going to put it in my mouth next time if that’s okay.”

“I think some might argue … what … you what? Yeah … okay …” Davy couldn’t tear his eyes away and suddenly he was reaching out and touching Peter’s erection, causing Peter to gasp and let his hand fall away.

“Oh, Davy … you don’t have to …”

“Shhhh …”

Peter was hot and so hard in his hand. Davy began to stroke him and Peter moaned. “Oh, Davy … yes … feels so good …”

And that made Davy feel pretty good. Knowing how much he turned Peter on. He stroked him a little harder and faster, with more confidence, as he leaned in to capture the blond’s mouth with his own. Peter kissed him back hungrily, his hips twitching as he got even harder.

Then Davy began kissing Peter’s neck and ear in a way that usually made girls weak in the knees and Peter was no exception, save for a flush in his cheeks because Davy knew Peter was self-conscious about the size of his ears and wore his hair long in a style that kept them covered up. But Davy thought Peter’s big ears were awfully cute. Davy pulled his hand back for a moment to spit into it to give his touch a bit more lubrication and Peter groaned happily at the result.

“Don’t stop, Davy …” he whimpered . “Oh, Davy … please …”

“I got you, Peter,” Davy murmured. “I’ll take you there. You can trust me.”

And then Peter was crying out softly, an ecstatic expression blooming over his face as he came, shooting over his stomach and chest. Davy watched, somewhat astounded. That he’d done that. And it was … quite lovely. Messy, but lovely. He slowly took his hand away and reached for a few tissues on the bedside table and cleaned himself up first, and then Peter.

Peter smiled sweetly at him. “Thank you, Davy.”

Davy shrugged, tossing the tissues into the wastebasket. “It’s no bother.”

Peter rolled onto his side and touched Davy’s cheek. “Not just for that … for everything. That was really groovy, Davy.”

Davy blushed. “Oh, Pete … I’m no good talkin’ about stuff like this.”

“It’s okay. I am! I mean … I just tell the truth, I guess. I feel happy right now. I hope you do, too. It’s Christmas and we’re all together.”

Davy nodded, relaxing a fraction. “You’re right, Peter. I do feel happy. We have a lot to be thankful for.”

They smiled shyly at one another, then started as they heard footsteps upstairs and the sounds of Micky and Mike rising and coming downstairs. Davy and Peter both quickly pulled up their pajama pants and made sure they were decent because there was a good chance that …

“MERRY CHRISTMAS, LOVEBIRDS!” Micky crowed as he threw open the bedroom door. He grinned at the sight of Davy and Peter together in Davy’s bed and he launched himself at them, landing in between them like the filling in a sandwich.

“Micky!”

“Oi! You nearly took me eye out, Mick!”

Micky ignored them and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at one and then the other. “So? Are we having a very nice morning? It sure sounded nice!” He sniffed the air and raised an eyebrow. “And sure smells like sex in here!”

“We could certainly hear you ‘enjoying’ your morning,” Davy said dryly.

“You bet I did! I got laid on Christmas morning! Like I said to Mike …”

“DON’T SAY IT!” came Mike’s voice from the other room. Micky swore he had bat-like hearing.

“I’m coming for Christmas!” Micky yelled, giggling.

Mike groaned.

Davy groaned.

Peter looked confused for a moment, then he got the joke. “Oh … oh, Micky!”

“Sounds like we all came for Christmas,” Micky said mischievously. “So … gossip time, girls … who’s bigger?”

“Talk about crossing boundaries,” said Davy. “But I’ll have you know that Peter’s packing some serious heat. What you got goin’ on down there, huh?” He made to pull out the waistband of Micky’s pajama bottoms to have a peak inside.

“HEY!” Micky squealed, pushing Davy’s hand away. “Hands off the merchandise! That’s … for Mike.”

“That dick is mine!” Mike called. “Don’t get greedy — you got yer own and now you got Pete’s. That one’s mine. I wrote my name on it.”

“Good thing ‘Mike’ is so few letters,” Davy snorted.

Micky scowled. “He could write his full name.”

Davy raised his eyebrows. “Robert Michael Nesmith?”

Micky looked down. “Michael,” he muttered.

Davy laughed, but then shoved Micky’s shoulder playfully. “C’mon, I’m just kidding around. You climb into bed with me and you better expect you’re getting some dick jokes.”

“You didn’t make dick jokes with me,” said Peter.

“That’s because your dick is no joke,” said Davy with a low whistle. “If I had that thing I’d be tellin’ everyone. Take out an ad in the bloody paper.”

Peter blushed. “Davy!”

“Well, it’s true!”

Micky rolled his eyes. “This is getting boring.” He sat up and squirmed off the bed. “Get up! It’s Christmas! Let’s celebrate! I’m hungry!” He bounced out of the room, leaving Peter and Davy chuckling after him, then turning to each other and sharing another kiss before reluctantly getting out of bed.

* * *

The three Monkee angels watched over the Christmas Day proceedings, nestled into a string of tinsel that had survived the party, as the Monkees sat around the tree and sang songs together. This was one of the angels’ favorite days and generally a pretty quiet one for them, as more often than not, people tried extra hard to be good and kind on Christmas Day. Cupid-Davy joined them a little later, leaning in to kiss them all tenderly on the cheek in greeting, causing them all to blush and smile.

“How are our lads?” the cherub asked, wings fluttering as he settled down next to angel-Micky.

“Everyone’s happy,” the angel said with a smile.

Then there were duel popping sounds and devil-Micky and devil-Davy arrived as if summoned.

“Everyone got laid!” crowed devil-Micky.

“In a sense,” said devil-Davy.

“Give it time, pal. They’ll get there.”

“Well, we were having a relaxing morning until now,” angel-Micky said with a haughty sniff.

Devil-Micky ignored the jibe and moved over to sit next to angel-Mike. They hadn’t seen much of each other in the past forty-eight hours, what with the troubles with Peter and with the mayhem of the party.

“Looks like those two are doin’ okay,” devil-Micky said, uncharacteristically quiet, nodding to Davy and Peter.

“Yeah … no thanks to your pals …” grumbled angel-Mike. But then he shook his head and sighed. “Naw, sorry, I don’t really mean that. I mean, I do, but you’re a devil, man. It’s what you do. And I do what I do and we need both those things to exist. There is no good without …”

Devil-Micky held up a finger. “I don’t deal in evil, pal. I think you know that and that’s why you’re able to dig me as much as you do. I specialize in mischief, bad dreams, and impulsive decisions with low-stakes consequences. True evil and life-long regrets? That’s demon work. And you also know that because your fellas been cursed with one. But you, uh, do a good job of keeping him at bay, I gotta say.”

Angel-Mike managed a small smile. “Still wish I knew why your boss keeps goin’ after Peter. I have a feeling he ain’t through yet.”

The devil shook his head of curly hair. “Not by a long shot. He’s stubborn. Used to getting what he wants. But that will be harder for him now. He’s protected by love.” Devil-Micky made a sour face. “Ew.”

Angel-Mike snorted. “You talk a good game, pal, but I know better.”

Devil-Micky shrugged. “Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. But, hey, you wanna meet me in ‘our’ cupboard a little later? After the boys take off for their dinner?”

“You know it, hoss.”

“Very groovy,” said devil-Micky, lighting up a cigarette. He looked around the Pad and nodded. “Place survived pretty well even after I invited all those extra people.”

“That was _you_?” gasped angel-Micky as all the celestial heads whipped around to stare at devil-Micky.

Devil-Micky grinned and shrugged. “Keep things interesting. I may have … spread the word to some of my esteemed colleagues.”

“Truly incorrigible,” said angel-Mike, but he grinned.

Suddenly there was another pop and a puff of cloudy smoke and the celestials found themselves looking at a tiny Peter. He had the bass player’s golden hair and sunny countenance, but a pair of a grey wings and … a set of horns.

“What … what _are_ you?” said angel-Davy, confused.

Peter looked down at himself. “I don’t … quite know. This is my first assignment. I’m new to all of this. It’s a completely new department that just opened up. I’m … a bit of both. I suppose you can call me grey-Peter.”

“Well, pleased to make your acquaintance,” said angel-Davy. “We’re awfully glad that Peter has one of his own now … right, everyone?”

A series of nods and uh-huhs went down the line. Angel-Davy shot them a look. “I think we can be a little more hospitable to our new colleague, huh? He’s got a big job.”

Devil-Micky introduced himself, but frowned at grey-Peter. “I don’t quite get it. If you’re … half and half … are you here to protect Peter or to recruit him for Zero?”

“To protect,” grey-Peter said. “But have had extensive training in … the other side. To help me protect him. Also … his new involvement with Davy has … changed things somewhat. There are only a few of us. It’s a big experiment.” He sat down next to angel-Davy, a little bit glum. “It’s a little lonely, to be honest.”

Angel-Davy patted his hand reassuringly. “It’s all right, man. You have us now.” He gestured down to the boys singing around the tree. “And we have them. And aren’t we lucky for that?”

Devil-Micky gave the grey devil-angel another curious look and then kissed angel-Mike on the cheek. “I think you’re just a few goody points above that guy. What a concept.”

“You ain’t wrong. Boy … 1967 is going to be a helluva year,” angel-Mike remarked.

“Pun intended?”

“Of course.”

They held hands and angel-Mike wrapped a wing around the curly-haired devil, cuddling him close.

And the Monkees sang and celebrated another Christmas together. Another year of trying to make their dreams come true. Another year of giving it their best. Another year of not giving up.


End file.
